Skip to main content

Full text of "Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhyme"

See other formats





tftltnrnt g| 





mfokhp MjA SMITH EI??RT^ f 88 








I speak, as in the days of youth, 
In simple words some earnest truth. 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S56, 

By C. S. Francis & Co., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Conrt of the United States, for the 

Southern District of New York. 

Several of the articles contained in this volume 
have appeared in various periodicals ten or twelve 
years ago. Others have been recently written, during 
the hours that could be spared from daily duties. 



The Eglantine, 9 

A Serenade, . 46 

The Juryman, 47 

The Fairy Friend, 65 

Wergeland, the Poet, 72 

The Emigrant Boy, 79 

Home and Politics, 96 

To the Trailing Arbutus, 119 

The Catholic and the Quaker, 121 

The Rival Mechanicians, 143 

A Song, 165 

Utouch and Touchu, 166 

The Brother and Sister, 181 

The Stream of Life, . 200 

The Man that Killed his Neighbours, . I . 203 

Intelligence of Animals, 221 

The World that I am Passing Through, . . . 231 

Jan and Zaida, 233 

To the Nasturtium, . 268 

The Ancient Clairvoyant, . . . . . .269 

Spirit and Matter, 291 

The Kansas Emigrants, 302 

I Want to Go Home, 364 


% simple tm $tonj, 


" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
And her modest answer, and graceful air, 
Show her wise and good, as she is fair. 
Would she were mine ; and I to-day 
A simple harvester of hay ; 
With low of cattle, and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 
Then he thought of his sister, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

J. G-. WmrriER. 

''"What a remarkably pretty girl Mrs. Barton 
has for a nursery maid," said Mrs. Yernon to her 

" Yes, mamma ; and it seems quite useless for a 
servant to be so handsome. What good will it do 
her P" She glanced at the mirror, as she spoke, and 
seemed less satisfied than usual with her own pretty 
face. She was thinking to herself, "If I had as 


much beauty as she has, I shouldn't despair of win- 
ning a duke." 

A similar idea flashed across Mrs. Vernon's 
mind, as she noticed the involuntary appeal to the 
mirror. Therefore, she sighed as she answered, 
" Instead of doing her good, it will doubtless prove 
a misfortune. Some dissipated lord will take a 
fancy to her ; but he will soon become weary of 
her, and will marry her to the first good-natured 
clown, who can be hired to take her." 

"Very likely," replied Miss Julia; "and after 
living with a nobleman, she can never be happy 
with a person of her own condition." The pros- 
pect of such a future in reserve for the rustic beauty 
seemed by no means painful to the aristocratic 
young lady. Indeed, one might conjecture, from 
her manner, that she regarded it as no more than a 
suitable punishment for presuming to be handsomer 
than her superiors in rank. 

A flush passed over the countenance of her bro- 
ther Edward, who sat reading at the opposite win- 
dow ; but the ladies, busy with their embroidery 
and netting, did not observe it. The lower ex- 
tremity of their grounds was separated from Mrs. 
Barton's merely by a hedge of hawthorns. A few 
weeks previous, as he was walking there, his atten- 
tion had been attracted by joyful exclamations 
from their neighbour's children, over a lupine that 
began to show its valves above the ground. He 
turned involuntarily, and when he saw the young 


girl who accompanied them, he felt a little glow of 
pleasant surprise curl around his heart, as if some 
entirely new and very beautiful wild flower had 
unexpectedly appeared before him. That part of 
the garden became his favourite place of resort ; and 
if a day passed without his obtaining a glimpse of 
the lovely stranger, he was conscious of an unde- 
fined feeling of disappointment. One day, when 
the children were playing near by, their India-rub- 
ber ball bounced over into Mrs. Yernon's grounds. 
When he saw them searching for it among the 
hawthorns, he reached across the hedge and pre- 
sented it to their attendant. He raised his hat and 
bowed, as he did so ; and she blushed as she took 
it from his hand. After this accidental introduction, 
he never passed her without a similar salutation ; 
and she always coloured at a mark of courtesy so 
unusual from a gentleman to a person in her humble 
condition. The degree of interest she had excited 
in his mind rendered it somewhat painful to hear 
his mother's careless prophecy of her future destiny. 
A few days afterward, he was walking with his 
sister, when Mrs. Barton's maid passed with the 
children. Miss Julia graciously accosted the little 
ones, but ignored the presence of their attendant. 
Seeing her brother make his usual sign of deferen- 
tial politeness, she exclaimed, " What a strange per- 
son you are, Edward ! One would suppose you were 
passing a duchess. I dare say you would do just 
the same if cousin Alfred were with us." 


"Certainly I should," lie replied. "I am accus- 
tomed to regulate my actions by my own convictions, 
not by those of another person. You know I be- 
lieve in such a thing as natural nobility." 

"And if a servant happens to have a pretty face, 
you consider her a born duchess, I suppose," said 

"Such hind of beauty as thai we havejusl passed, 
where the pliant limbs move with unconscious dig- 
nity, and harmonized features are illuminated by a 
moral grace, that emanates from the soul, does seem 
to me to hav • r eeived from Nature herself an un- 
mistakeable patent of nobility." 

"So you know this person?" inquired his sister. 

lie replied, "I have merely spoken to her on the 
occasion of returning a ball, that one of the children 
tossed over into our grounds. But casually as I 
have seen her, her countenance and manners impress 
me with the respect that you feel for high birth." 

" It's a pity you were not born in the back- woods 
of America," retorted his sister, pettishly. 

" I sometimes think so myself," he quietly replied. 
" But let us gather some of these wild flowers, Julia, 
instead of disputing about conventional distinctions, 
concerning which you and I can never agree." 

His sister coldly accepted the flowers he offered. 
Her temper was clouded by the incident of the 
morning;. It vexed her that Edward had never 
said, or implied, so much concerning her style of 
beauty ; and she could not forgive the tendencies of 


mind which spoiled him for the part she wished him 
to perform in the world, as a means of increasing 
his own importance, and thereby advancing her 
interests. She had the misfortune to belong to an 
English family extensively connected with the rich 
and aristocratic, without being themselves largely 
endowed with wealth. Cousin Alfred, the son of 
her father's older brother, was heir to a title ; and 
consequently she measured every thing by his stand- 
ard. The income of the family was more than suf- 
ficient for comfort and gentility ; but the unfortunate 
tendency to assume the habits of others as their 
standard rendered what might have been a source 
of enjoyment a cause of discontent. 

Their life was a constant struggle to keep up ap- 
pearances beyond their means. All natural thoughts 
and feelings were kept in perpetual harness ; drilled 
to walk blindfolded the prescribed round of con- 
ventional forms, like a horse in a bark-mill ; with 
this exception, that their routine spoiled the free 
paces of the horse, without grinding any bark. 
Edward's liberal soul had early rebelled against this 
system. He had experienced a vague consciousness 
of walking in fetters ever since he was reproved for 
bringing home a favourite school-mate to pass the 
vacation with him, when he was twelve years old. 
He could not then be made to understand why a 
manly, intelligent, large-hearted boy, who was a 
tradesman's son, was less noble than young Lord 
Smallsoul, cousin Alfred's school-friend ; and within 


the last few weeks, circumstances had excited his 
thoughts to unusual activity <•< mcerning natural and 
artificial distinctions. As be walked in the garden, 
book in band, be aever failed to sec the beautiful 
nursery-maid, If she were anywhere within sight; 
and she always perceived him. In her eyes, he was 
like a bright, far-off star; while he was refreshed 
by a vision of her 1 as be was by the beauty of an 
opening flower. Distinction of rank was such a 
fixed facl in the society around them, that the star 
and the flower dreamed of union as much as they 
did. But Cupid, who is the earliesl republican on 
record, willed that things should not remain in that 
state. A bunch of fragrant violets were offered 
with a smile and received with a blush; and in 
the blush and the smile an arrow lay concealed. 
Then volumes of poems were loaned with passag* s 
marked ; and every word of those passages were 
stereotyped on the heart of the reader. For a long 
time, he was ignorant of her name ; but hearing the 
children call her Sibella, he inquired her other name, 
and they told him it was Flower. He thought it an 
exceedingly poetic and appropriate name ; as most 
young men of twenty would have thought, under 
similar circumstances. He noticed the sequestered 
lanes where she best loved to rove, when sent out 
with the children for exercise; and those lanes 
became his own favourite places of resort. Wild 
flowers furnished a graceful and harmless topic of 
conversation ; yet Love made even those simple 


things his messengers. Patrician Edward offered 
the rustic Sibella an Eglantine, saying, " This has a 
peculiar charm for me, above all flowers. It is so 
fragrant and delicately tinted; so gracefully un- 
trained, and so modest in its pretensions. It always 
seems to me like a beautiful young maiden, without 
artificial culture, but naturally refined and poetic. 
The first time I saw you, I thought of a flowering 
Eglantine; and I have never since looked at the 
shrub, without being reminded of you." She lis- 
tened, half abashed and half delighted. She never 
saw the flower again without thinking of him. 

The next day after this little adventure, she re- 
ceived a copy of Moore's Melodies, with her name' 
elegantly written therein. The songs, all sparkling 
with fancy and warm with love, were well suited to 
her sixteen years, and to that critical period in her 
heart's experience. She saw in them a reflection of 
her own young soul dreamily floating in a fairy -boat 
over moon-lighted waters. The mystery attending 
the gift increased its charm. The postman left it at 
the door, and no one knew whence it came. Within 
the same envelope was a pressed blossom of the 
Eglantine, placed in a sheet of Parisian letter-paper 
gracefully ornamented with a coloured arabesque of 
Eglantines and German Eorget-me-nots. On it the 
following verses were inscribed : — 



There is a form more light and fair, 
Than human to an tell, 

a spirit of tlw air. 
She is a Bower si 

The lovely oheek p intly flushed 

Than ocean's rosy shell, 


l> tike a new-found p< blushed, 

She is a flower St bel 

Her glossy hair in simple braid, 
With softly curving Bwell, 

Might well ha\ rrecian maid. 

She is a flower si belle ! 

ITcr serious and dove-like eyes 

Of gentle thoughts do tell ; 
Serene as summer ev'ning skies. 

She is a (lower si belle! 
Her graceful mouth was outlined free 

By Cupid's magic spell, 
A bow for his sure archery. 

She is a flower si belle ! 

And thence soft silv'ry tones do flow, 

Like rills along the dell, 
Making sweet music as they gG# 

She is a flower si belle ! 


Fairer still is the modest mind, 

Pure as a crystal well, 
*n mountain solitude enshrined. 

She is a flower si belle ! 

A note at the bottom of the verses explained that 
the French word si belle meant so beautiful. The 
poetry was that of a young man of twenty ; but a 
simple maiden of sixteen, who was herself the sub- 
ject of the lines, saw more beauty in them, than a 
critic could find in the best inspirations of Shake- 
speare or Milton. And then to think that a gentle- 
man, who understood French, should write verses 
to her! It was wonderful! She would as soon 
have dreamed of wearing the crown of England. 
The next time she met Edward Vernon, her cheeks 
were flushed more deeply than " ocean's rosy shell." 
But she never alluded to the book or the verses; 
for she said to herself, "Perhaps he did'nt send 
them ; and then I should feel so ashamed of sup- 
posing he did ! " The secret was half betrayed on 
his part ; whether intentionally or unintentionally, 
she did not know. He began by calling her Miss 
Flower ; then he called her Sibella ; but ever after 
the reception of the verses, he said Sibelle. 

They were so reserved toward each other, and 
Mrs. Barton's children were apparently so much the 
objects of his attention, during their rambles, that 
their dreamy romance might have gone on uninter- 
rupted for months longer, had not a human foot 
2* b 


stepped within their fairy circle. Lord Smallsoul, 
as he rode abroad one day attracted by "the 

flower si belle." As his grosser nature and more 
selfish habits were uncurbed by the respectful diffi- 
dence, which restrained Edward's love, he became 
bold and importunate in his attentions; as if he 
took it for granted that any rural beauty could be 
purchased with a nobleman's gold. The poor girl 
coidd not stir out of doors, without being liable to 
his unwelcome intrusion ; the more unwelcome be- 
cause the presence of the false lover expelled the 
true one. Edward kept carefully aloof, watching 
the pn of the profligate nobleman with 

jealous indignation. He painfully felt that he had 
no right to assume guardianship over the young 
girl, and t: so would bring him 

into collision with her persecutor; likely to end 
in publicity by no means favourable to her repu- 
tation. The rural belle was inexperienced in the 
world's ways, but she had been trained by a pru- 
dent mother, and warned against the very dangers 
that now beset her path. Therefore, with many 
blushes, she begged Mrs. Barton to excuse her from 
walking out with the children; confessing that 
Lord Smallsoul sought every opportunity of urging 
her to go and live with him in Italy, though she 
never would accept one of the many rich presents 
he was alwa}~s offering her. Mrs. Barton warmly 
commended her, and promised protection. After 
some conversation, she said, " The children tell me 


that Mr. Vernon has often joined you in your 
walks. Did he ever say he was in love with you ?" 
Sibella promptly replied, " Never. He is always 
very respectful." "And he has never made you any 
presents, has he ?" inquired the lady. The maiden 
lowered her eyes and blushed deeply. She had 
been trained to a strict observance of the truth ; 
but she did not know certainly who sent Moore's 
Melodies ; and heart and conscience both pleaded 
with her not to say any thing that might involve 
her friend in blame. After a moment's hesitation, 
she answered,; evasively, " He has sometimes offered 
me flowers, madam, when he was gathering them 
for the children ; and I thought it no harm to take 
them." The book of poems, and the wonderful 
verses framed in flowery arabesques, remained a se- 
cret between herself and him who sent them. But 
Mrs. Barton noticed the sudden blush, and the in- 
voluntary hesitation ; and she resolved to elicit some 
information from the children, in a manner not 
likely to excite their curiosity. 

Lord Smallsoul, who from infancy had been an 
object of excessive indulgence, was not to be easily 
baffled in his selfish plans. Night and day, he, or 
his confidential servant, was prowling about Mrs. 
Barton's grounds. His assiduities became a posi- 
tive nuisance, and excited much gossip in the neigh- 
bourhood. Miss Julia Yernon took occasion to say 
to Mrs. Barton, " It is really surprising his lordship 
should make himself so ridiculous, instead of be- 


stowing his attentions upon beautiful ladies whose 
rank in life is nearer to his own. He knows, how- 
ever, that ladies would scorn to accept such homage 
as he bestows upon your servant ; and I suppose 
he is not yet ready to enter into matrimonial 

Mrs. Barton thought to herself that the dissolute 
nobleman would receive a very prompt and gra- 
cious answer, if he invited Miss Julia to enter into 
such bonds. She, however, suppressed the smile 
that was rising to her lips, and said, " I don't won- 
der at his being fascinated by Sibella ; for she is 
gifted with extraordinary beauty. I am truly thank- 
ful, on her own account, and for the sake of her 
worthy parents, that she is discreet as. she is lovely. 
I confess, I should myself rejoice in such a daugh- 

There was a slightly contemptuous motion in the 
muscles of Miss Vernon's mouth, as she replied, 
" You appear to think her a paragon. The girl is 
pretty enough ; too pretty for her own good, since 
she was born to be a servant. But I cannot imag- 
ine what attractions she can have for a gentleman, 
who is accustomed to the distinguished air of ladies 
of rank." 

" Some people prefer the Eglantine to the Grarden 
Kose," replied Mrs. Barton. " Your brother is ac- 
customed to ladies of rank ; but I imagine he 
appreciates Sibella's beauty more highly than you 


" What reason have you for thinking so ?" quick- 
ly inquired Miss Julia. 

Half mischievously, and altogether imprudently, 
Mrs. Barton replied, " The children heard him tell 
her that she was like an Eglantine, which, of all 
flowers was his favourite ; and they say he always 
wore an Eglantine in his vest, as long as there was 
one to be found." 

Up rose Miss "Vernon, hastily, and with a haugh- 
ty toss of the head, said emphatically, " I thank 
you very much for having told me this. Good 
morning, madam." 

The amiable neighbour, foreseeing a storm, imme- 
diately repented of what she had said ; but it was 
impossible to recall it. She looked out of the win- 
dow, and saw that Miss Yernon was excited to such 
a degree as to make her forget the patrician languor, 
which usually characterized her movements. Obey- 
ing an impulse, for once in her life, she walked 
rapidly across the garden to the paternal mansion. 
As if a case of life and death were impending, she 
startled her mother with this abrupt annunciation : 
" Do go directly to cousin Alfred, and tell him he 
must devise some means to remove Edward from 
this neighbourhood, forthwith. You know, he has 
been promising, for some time past, to secure a 
suitable situation for him; and unless you see to 
having it done immediately, you may prepare your- 
self to have your son disgrace the whole family by 
marrying a servant." She then repeated what she 


had just heard, and added: "You know, mother, 

that Edward : J be induced to pay bo much 

ard to the distinctions of rank, as he ought to 

do. It would be just like him to go off to Gretna 
Given with a servant girl, if he happened to take 
it into his foolish head that she was a paragon of 

beauty and virtue." 

Great was the consternation in all branches of 
the Vernon family; and their alarm was not a little 
increased when Edward frankly declared that it 

WOnld he i procure a suitable education fi>r 

Sibella, and then she would be a desirable com- 
panion for any gentleman in the land. IIow Ids fa- 
ther glowered at him, how his mother wept, and 
what glances his sister hurled from her haughty 
•ed not be told.' lie retreated to his own 
a] >artment, and for several days remained there m< tst 
of the time, revolving plans for the future ; some 
of them of the most romantic kind. He longed for 
a secret interview with Sibella, to avow his love, 
promise eternal constancy, and obtain from her a 
similar pledge in return. But his nice sense of 
honour restrained him from taking any step that 
might cast a shadow upon her. He made several 
attempts to see her openly, but he was closely 
watched, and she never appeared ; for Mrs. Barton 
informed her that the family had taken offence at 
the attentions he paid her. 

The anxious conferences in Edward's family 
ended with an announcement from his father that 


he must prepare to start for Italy the next week, as 
traveling companion for a young nobleman, about 
to make the tour of Europe. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Yernon and her daughter vent- 
ed some of their mortification and vexation upon 
Mrs. Barton ; blaming her for keeping such a hand- 
some servant, to make trouble in gentlemen's fam- 
ilies. That lady, becoming more and more un- 
easy at the state of things, deemed it prudent to 
write a warning letter to Sibella's parents ; and the 
good mother came to her child immediately. She 
found her darling in the depths of girlish misery ; 
alleviated, however, by the happy consciousness 
that she had nothing to conceal. Weeping on the 
maternal bosom, she told all her simple story ; not 
even reserving the secret of the book and the verses. 
But when her mother said they ought to be re- 
turned to Mr. Yernon, she remonstrated warmly. 
"Oh no, mother, don't ask me to do that! If you 
do, I shall be sorry I told you. I don't know that 
he sent them. He never said so. The Eglantine 
made me think that he did ; but I am afraid I 
should seem to him like a bold, vain girl, if he 
knew that I thought so." Her mother, being as- 
sured that no presents had been offered, and love 
never spoken of, yielded to her argument. She 
was allowed to retain the precious volume, and the 
wonderful verses, which were hidden away as care- 
fully as a miser's treasures. 

Mr. Yernon, the father, had a private con versa- 


tion with Mrs. Flower, the morning after her arrival. 
He assumed so proud a tone, that he roused a cor- 
responding d< P pride in the worthy woman, 
who curtly assured him that her daughter would 
find no difficulty in forming a good connection, and 
would never be permitted to enter any family that 
objected to her. The gentleman thanked her, with 
cold politeness, and she parted from him with a 
very short courtesy. That evening a note came for 
Miss Sibella Flower. Mrs. Barton placed it in the 
mother's hand, who opened it and read : 

"Dear Sibelle, 

" Forgive me for venturing to call you so. I 
am compelled to depart for Italy to-morrow ; and 
that must be my excuse. I have reflected much 
upon the subject, and young as I am, I feel that it 
is my duty not to refuse the eligible situation my 
relatives have procured for me. It has given me 
great pain to come to this conclusion ; but I console 
myself with the reflection that some day or other, 
I shall be free to follow my own inclinations. I 
can never forget you, never cease to love you; and 
I cannot part without saying farewell, and conjur- 
ing you to cherish the memory of the blissful mo- 
ments we have passed together. Do ask Mrs. Bar- 
ton to allow me an hour's interview with you this 
evening. She and your mother can both be pres- 
ent, if they think: proper. They will see by this 


request that my views are honourable, and my pro- 
fessions sincere. 

" Yours, with, undying affection, 

"E. V." 

Mrs. Flower promptly decided to see the young 
gentleman herself. He was accordingly sent for, 
and came full of love and hope. But Sibella, who 
was kept in ignorance of the note, was requested 
not to intrude upon their conference ; therefore, he 
saw the mother only. In answer to all his vehement 
protestations and earnest entreaties, she answered, 
" Sibella is a mere child ; and it is my duty to guard 
her inexperience. Next to seeing her deceived by 
false professions, I have always dreaded her marry- 
ing into a proud family, who would look down 
upon her." 

" I will go to America, and make a position for 
myself, independent of my family, before I ask her 
to share my destiny," replied the enthusiastic lover. 

" I thank you, Mr. Yernon. You have behaved 
nobly toward my child ; and my heart blesses you 
for it. But I had a sister, who married above her 
rank, and I cannot forget the consequences. They 
were very young when they were married, and 
never were two young creatures so much in love. 
She was as good as she was handsome ; but his fam- 
ily treated her as if she was'nt worthy to black 
their shoes ; and they had such an influence upon 
him, that he at last repented of the step he had 


taken. She felt it, and it made her very miserable. 
You are young, sir; too young to be certain that 
your mind won't change." 

"I know perfectly well that my mind can nei 
change," he replied eagerly. " This is not such a 
boyish whim as you seem to suppose. It is a deep, 
abiding feeling. It is impossible that I can ev( c 

The mother quietly replied, " My sister's husband 
said thi : and yet he did chang 

Edward Vernon internally cursed that Bister's 
heartless husband; but he contented himself with 
Baying, "Such love as his must have beeu very dif- 
ferent from the feelings that inspire me" 

His intreaties were unavailing to procure an in- 
terview with Sibella. The prudent mother con- 
cealed the fact that he had awakened an interest in 
her daughter's heart. To all his arguments she 
would only shake her head and reply, " You are too 
young to know your own mind, Mr. Yernon." 

Too young ! How cold and contemptuous that 
sounded ! He was not in a state of mind to appre- 
ciate the foresight and kindness, which strove to 
shield him from his own rashness. She seemed to 
him as proud and hard-hearted as his father; and 
perhaps pride did help her prudence a little. Yet 
when he was gone away, the good woman sat down 
and cried; she sympathized so heartily with the 
trouble of those young hearts. Sibella sobbed her- 
self to sleep that night, though unconscious that 


Edward intended to leave England. He watched 
the window of her chamber till the light of her 
lamp went ont in darkness. " That star will shine 
for me no more !" he said. He returned slowly to 
his own room, looked out upon the hawthorn-hedge 
for a long time, then laid himself down to weep, and 
dream of green lanes, fragrant with the Eglantine. 

The next morning, Mrs. requested her 
daughter to prepare for their return home, since 
there was no other way of relieving Mrs. Barton 
from the perpetual intrusion of the shameless no- 
bleman, and his troublesome servant. Gentle as 
Sibella was, she experienced a feeling of hatred to- 
ward Lord Smallsoul, who, like an odious beast, had 
rushed into her paradise, trampling its flowers. 
She did not dispute her mother's decision, for she 
felt that it was judicious ; but she also stood at the 
window a long time, looking out upon the haw- 
thorn-hedge, associated with so many pleasant mem- 
ories. Her eyes were moist when she turned and 
said, " Mother, before we go away, I should like to 
bid good-bye to some of the old places, where I 
have walked with — with — the children. You can 
go with me, if you are afraid of my meeting Mr. 

Sadly and sympathizingly, her mother answered, 
" You cannot meet Mr. Yernon, my child ; for he 
has gone to Italy." 

"Gone!" she exclaimed; and the sudden pale- 
ness and the thrilling tone cut her mother's heart. 


She soothed her tenderly, and, after a while, Sibella 
raised her head, with an effort to assume maidenly 
pride, and said, u Lie never told me he loved me. 
1 1 sometimes thought he did. But it was very foolish 
of me. If he cared for me, he would have said 
good-bye I will think no more about it." 

The mother was strongly tempted to tell how 
ardently and how honourably he loved. But she 
thought to herself, "It would only serve to keep 
alive hopes destined to end in disappointment," 
So she put strong constraint on her feminine sym- 
pathies, and 'remained silent. They went forth into 
the green lanes bright with sunshine, but gloomy to 
eyes that saw them through a veil of tears. When 
Sibella eame to the bush from which Edward had 
broken the first Eglantine he offered her, she gazed 
at it mournfully, and throwing herself on the bosom 
of her best earthly friend, sobbed out, " Oh mother, 
mother ! I have been so happy here I" 

"My poor, dear child," she replied, "You don't 
know how sorry I am for you. But these feelings 
will pass away with time. You are very young ; 
and life is all before you." 

The maiden looked up with inexpressible sadness 
in her eyes, and answered, "Yes, mother, I am 
young ; but life is all behind me." 

# * * * * 

There is a wide chasm in the story, as there was 
in Sibella's life. That brief dream of the past 
would not unite itself with the actual present 


She could form no bridge between them. It re- 
mained bj itself; like an island warm with sun- 
shine, and fragrant with Eglantines, in the midst of 
cold grey waves. Because she herself was changed, 
all things around her seemed changed. The young 
men, especially, appeared like a different race of 
beings, since she had learned to compare them with 
that poetic youth, who gazed so reverently at the 
evening star, and loved the wild-flowers as if they 
were living things. He had kindled her imagina- 
tion, as well as her heart. She perceived a soul in 
Nature, of which she had been unconscious till he 
revealed it. Ah, how lonely she was now ! In all 
the wide world there was not one mortal who could 
understand what that simple country girl had found, 
or what she had lost. She herself did not compre- 
hend it. She only had an uneasy sense of always 
seeking for something she could never find. She 
lived among her former associates like one who has 
returned from an excursion into fairy -land, finding 
the air of earth chilly, and its colours dim. But 
employments are Amaranths in the garden of life. 
They live through all storms, and survive all changes 
of the seasons. Her duties were numerous and con- 
scientiously performed ; and through this pathway 
of necessity, apparently so rugged, she soon arrived 
at a state of cheerful serenity. 

In a few months, her parents were induced to 
join a band of emigrants coming to America ; and 
the novelty of change proved beneficial to her. 


That sunny island in her experience was not for- 
gotten, but it smiled upon her farther in the distance, 
There was a joyful palpitation at her heart, when 
the found Eglantines growing wild in America, 
under the name of Sweet-Briar Roses. She opened 
the verses which bad seemed to her "si belle!" 
The flower was faded, and its sweetness gone; bnt 
memory was redolent of its fragrance. She was 
never told that Edward Vernon had written two 
letters to her, after he left England; and she hud 
almost persuaded herself that his looks and tones 
Were not BO significant as they had seemed. She 
had no materials to form a definite hope; but it 
became the leading object of her life so to improve 
herself that he would have QO Cause to be ashamed 
of her, if lie ever should happen to come to Amer- 
ica. In the accomplishment of this project, she 
was continually stimulated by the example of Amer- 
ican girls, who obtained the means of education by 
their own manual industry, and ended by becoming 
teachers of the highest class. Her parents were 
delighted with her diligence and perseverance, and 
did what they could to aid her; never suspecting 
that the impelling power came chiefly from a latent 
feeling, which they hoped was extinct. So she 
worked onwards and upwards, with hands and mind, 
and soon found pleasure in the development itself. 
Meanwhile, the beautiful English Flower attracted 
admirers of various grades. Her parents hoped she 
would give the preference to a merchant of good 


character, who was in very prosperous circumstances. 
She was aware that such a marriage would be a 
great advantage to them; and she loved them so 
much, that she wished her beauty could be the 
means of bringing them prosperity. She tried to 
love the worthy merchant ; but her efforts were un- 
availing. She was always thinking to herself, " He 
never writes poetry to me, and he never tells me 
about the stars. Edward used to gather wild-flowers 
for me, and bind them so gracefully with wreaths 
of Ivy. But this gentleman buys hot-house flowers, 
tied into pyramids on wires. The poor things look 
so uncomfortable! just as I shall feel, if I consent 
to be sold and tied up. Ah, if he were only more 
like Mr. Vernon ! I should like to oblige my good 
father and mother." The soliloquy ended with 
humming to herself: 

" There's nothing half so sweet in life 
As Love's young dream." 

When the time came for a definite answer to the 
merchant, she told her parents she had rather keep 
school than marry. They looked at each other and 
sighed ; but they asked no questions concerning the 
memory of her heart. 

The prospect of owning a farm, combined with 
an eligible offer for Sibella as a teacher, soon after- 
ward attracted them to the far West. The grandeur 
and freedom of Nature in that new region, the 
mighty forests, the limitless prairies, the luxuriant 


vegetation, produced a sudden expansion in that 
youthful soul, trained amid the cultivated gardens 
and carefully clipped h of England. Im 

nation ex; d a new birth in poetry, as the 

iligion. All that she had pre- 
viously known of beauty seemed tame and cold 
compared with the wild charm of that improvised 

aery. But more than ever Bhe was op] 
with a Bense of mental loneliness. Nature was in- 
Bpiring, but it had no sympathy with the human 
soul, which for mor usivc companion- 

ship, more intimate communion. The maiden needed 
a Mend, into whose soul the calm sunset of the 
prai -uld infuse the holy light that penc- 

il her own. In su . the looks and 

tones of Edward Vernon came back with vivid dis- 
tinctness. At ti. I inexpressibly to 
know whether he ever had such lively reminiscences 
of the poor country girl, whom his influence had 
led into the regions she never dreamed of before. 
Nature looked at her with the same tranquil smile, 
and gave no answer. Fortunately, the active duties 
of life left but few hours for such reveries; other- 
wise, the abrupt termination of her long dream 
might have proved as hazardous, as the sudden 
wakening of a somnambulist. A newly-arrived 
English emigrant visited her father's farm. He 
came from Mrs. Barton's neighbourhood, and in the 
course of conversation chanced to mention that Mr. 
Vernon's son and -daughter were both married. 


Until that moment, Sibella had not realized the 
strength of the hope she cherished. She veiled her 
disappointment from the observation of others ; and 
her mother had the good sense to forbear saying, 
" I told you so." No conversation passed between 
them on the subject ; but when Sibella retired to 
her sleeping apartment, she gazed out on the moon- 
lighted solitude of the prairie for a long time, and 
thought the expression of the scene never seemed 
so sad. She said to herself, " My mother told me 
truly. That beautiful experience was indeed a 
dream of early youth ; and only a dream." 

She was under the necessity of returning to Chi- 
cago the next day, to attend to her school. In 
another department of the school, was a teacher from 
New England, a farmer's son, who had worked with 
his hands in the summer, and studied diligently in 
the winter, till he had become a scholar of more 
than common attainments. He taught school during 
the week, and occasionally preached on Sunday, 
not because he was too indolent to perform manual 
labour, or because he considered it ungenteel. He 
was attracted toward books by -a, genuine thirst for 
knowledge ; and he devoted himself to moral and 
intellectual teaching, for the simple reason that God 
had formed him for it. He loved the occupation, 
and was therefore eminently successful in it. This 
young man had for some time been in love with 
Sibella Flower, without obtaining any signs of en- 
couragement from her. But there is much truth in 


old adage about the facility of catching a heart 
at the rebound He never wrote poetry, or spoke 

[uently about the beauties of scenery; for his 
. intellect employed itself chiefly with history, 
. and ethics. But though he was unlike 
Edward Vernon, he was gentle, good, and w! 
and, bier morning-dream had vanished utterly, 

Sibella became aware that his society furnished 
pleasant companionship (or heart and mind. Their 
intimacy gradually increased, and they finally mar- 
ried I desirous to purchase land and build a 
house, they continued to earn money by teaching. 
The desired home, with its various belongings, 
seemed likely to be soon completed, without great 
expense; for William Wood had all the capabilities 
of a genuine Yankee. lie could hew logs and plane 
them, make rustic tables, benches, and arbours, and 
mend his own shoes and saddles, during the inter- 
vals of preparing lectures on chemistry and astrono- 
my. In this imperfect existence, there is perhaps 
no combination of circumstances more favourable to 
happiness, than the taste to plan a beautiful home, 
practical skill to embody the graceful ideas, and the 
necessity of doing it with one's own hands. Those 
who have homes prepared for them by hired archi- 
tects, gardeners, and upholsterers, cannot Leg in to 
imagine the pleasure of making a nest for one's self. 
William was always planning bridges, arbours, and 
fences, and Sibella never saw a beautiful wild shrub, 
or vine, without marking it to be removed to the 


vicinity of their cabin. She told him all about her 
early love-dream, and said she should always cherish 
a grateful remembrance of it, because it had proved 
such a powerful agent to wake up the dormant 
energies of her soul. " I am a Wood-Flower now, 
dear William," said she, playfully ; " and, after all, 
that is no great change for an Eglantine." He 
smiled, and said he wished he was as poetic as she 
was. He was poetic in his deeds. • His young wife 
often found a bunch of fragrant wild-flowers on her 
pillow, when she woke, or in her plate, when they 
seated themselves at the breakfast-table. He made 
an arbour for her to rest in, when they rode out on 
horseback to visit their future homestead. It was 
shaded with wild vines, and an Eglantine bush was 
placed near the entrance, filling the whole arbour 
with the sweet breath of its foliage. The first time 
Sibella saw it, she looked at him archly, and said, 
" So you are not jealous of that foolish dream, dear 
William ? Well, it is customary to plant flowers 
on graves ; and this shall be sacred to the memory 
of a dream. Ah, what a bright little cluster of 
Pansies you have planted here !" " That is what 
you call them in Old England," said he ; "but in 
New England we name them Ladies' Delights, 
though some call them Forget-me-nots. Your ro- 
mantic Edward preferred the Eglantine ; but this is 
an especial favourite with your practical William. 
I like it because it will grow in all soils, bloom at all 
seasons, and hold up its head bravely in all weathers. 


If I were like you, I should say it was the efflor- 
escence of Yankee character." She clapped her 
hands, and exclaimed, "Bravo! William. You 
are growing poetic. I will name your little favour- 
ite the Yankee's Flower ; and that will be myself, 
yon see; for I am the Yankee's Flower." She 
looked into his honest eyes affectionately, and 
added, " There is one Yankee character who is a 
Ladv's Delight." 

Gambolling thus, like children, and happy in 
childish pleasures, their united lives flowed smooth- 
ly on, like some full, bright, unobstructed stream. 
The birth of a daughter was like the opening of a 
pure lily on the stream. Their happiness was now 
complete. Their grateful souls asked for nothing 
but a continuance of present blessings. But, alas, 
sudden as the rising of a thunder cloud, a deep 
shadow fell on their sunny prospect. William was 
called away a few days on business. He left home 
full of life and love, aud was brought back a shat- 
tered corpse. He had been killed by an accident, 
in the rail-road cars. Never had Sibella known 
any sorrow approaching the intensity of this sor- 
row. It saddened her to bid farewell to that first 
love-picture, which never emerged out of the misti- 
ness of dream-land; but this sober certainty of 
wedded happiness was such a living true reality 
that all her heart-strings bled, when it was wrenched 
from her so suddenly. Her suffering soul would 
have been utterly prostrated by the dreadful blow, 


had it not been for the blessed ministration of her 
babe, and the necessity of continuing to labour for 
its future support and education. The body of 
William was buried in a pretty little grove on her 
father's farm ; and every jrear the mound was com- 
pletely covered with a fresh bed of Ladies' De- 
lights, which his little girl learned to call "Farder's 

* *• * •* * 

Time passed and brought healing on its wings. 
Sibella never expected to know happiness again, 
but she had attained to cheerful resignation. Her 
little girl of three years lived at the farm, under the 
good grandmother's care. She continued to teach 
in the city, spending all her vacations, and most of 
her Sundays, at the old homestead. In her mem- 
ory lay a sunny island covered with Pansies, and 
often watered with tears. That other island of 
Eglantines had floated far away, and had scarcely a 
moonlighted existence. But one Sunday evening, 
as she returned from school, she found the little 
one watching for her, as usual. The indulgent 
grandmother had just given her an Eglantine blos- 
som, for which she had been teazing. In her eager- 
ness to bestow something on her mother, the child 
thrust it into her face, exclaiming " Mamma's Fow- 
er !" That simple phrase awoke sleeping memories. 
Not for years had the blooming lanes of old Eng- 
land been so distinctly pictured in the mirror of her 
soul. That night, she dreamed Edward Vernon 


met her in the prairie and gave her a torch-flower 
he had gathered. The child's exclamation had 
produced the train of thought of which the dream 
was born ; and the dream induced her to look at 
the versus which had long remained unopened. 
Ten years had passed since they were written. 
The paper was worn at the edges, and the Eg- 
lantine blossom was yellow and wrinkled. Still 
the sight of it recalled the very look and tone 
with which it was offered. The halo of glory with 
which her youthful imagination had invested the 
rhymes was dimmer now ; and yet they seemed to 
her "si belle!" 

The afternoon of that day, she sat with her 
mother, busily employed trimming a bonnet for 
their little darling, who was equally busy under 
the window, sticking an apron-full of wild-flowers 
into the ground, to make an impromptu garden. 
A voice called out, "Sir, will you have the good- 
ness to give me a little help ? My carriage has 
broken down." Sibella started suddenly, and the 
bonnet fell from her hand. " What is the matter 
with yon?" said her mother. "It is merely some 
traveler in trouble. That bad place in the road 
yonder must be mended." Sibella resumed her 
work, saying, " I am strangely nervous to-day." 
But in the secret chambers of her own mind, there 
was a voice whispering, " My dream ! My dream ! 
Can it be, as some people say, that there is a mag- 
netic influence on the soul when certain individ- 


rials approach each other ?" Presently, her father 
entered, leading a small boy, " Take care of this 
little fellow," said he, "his father's carriage has 
broken down, out by the hill." The young widow 
rose, and greeted the little stranger with such 
motherly tenderness, that he looked up in her face 
confidingly, with a half-formed smile. But she 
gazed into his eyes so earnestly, that he turned 
away partly afraid. The little girl offered him her 
flowers, and they sat down on the floor to play 
together. It was not long, before the farmer en- 
tered with the traveler ; a refined looking gentle- 
man, apparently about thirty years old. The old 
lady rose to greet him; but Sibella stooped to 
gather up the ribbons, which had fallen from her 
trembling hands. Browned as he was by wind and 
sun, she recognized him instantly. In fact she 
had already recognized his eyes and smile in the 
face of his son. She wondered whether he would 
know her. Was she like ah Eglantine now f 
Having resumed a sufficient degree of self-com- 
mand, while picking up the ribbons, she rose, and 
advanced toward him, with a blush and a smile. 
He started — uttered an exclamation of surprise — 
then seized her hand and kissed it. 

"Bless my soul! It's Mr. Yernon! And I 
didn't know him !" exclaimed Mrs. Flower. " Well 
this is strange, I do declare !" 

When their mutual surprise had subsided, many 
questions about old England were asked and an- 


swcred. But it was not until after supper that 
their guest spoke of his own plana. Pointing to 

his son, he said, "I am a Lonely man, with only 
that one tie to bind me to &e world. My father 
and mother arc dead; and as it was for I 
only that I consented to endure the fetters of over- 
civilized lit;-, I formed the resolution of coming 
rn wilds, to live with nature in her 
a and simplicity. I was n sel* 

in this movement, for I felt eonlideiit it was the 
I way to form a manly character tor my son. 
No cousin Alfred will stand in his sunshine / 
Come, Edward/' said he, " introduce your little 
friend to me." The boy sprang forward joyfully, 
and climbed his father's knee. "The little IVi- 
must sit on the other kn 1 he. u Go i 

bring her. You are not gallant to the little lady." 
But the little lady was shy. She hid hers- If he- 
hind a chair, and would not be easily persuaded. 
At last, however, her mother coaxed her to be led 
up to the stranger gentleman, to see him open his 
gold watch. He placed her on his knee and asked 
her name; and, emboldened by his caresses, she 
looked up in his face, and answered, "Teena." 
He glanced inquiringly toward her mother, who, 
blushing slightly, answered, "I named her Eglan- 
tina ; but, in her lisping way, she calls herself Tee- 
na ; and we have all adopted her fashion, except 
grandfather, who varies it a little by calling her 
Teeny." A pleased expression went oyer Mr. Yer- 


non's face, as he replied, " You did well to name 
her for yourself; for she resembles you, as the bud 
of the Eglantine resembles the blossom." As he 
spoke thus, the ten intervening years rolled away 
like a curtain, and they both found themselves 
walking again in the blooming lanes of old Eng- 

* # * # # 

Weeks passed, and Mr. Yernon still remained a 
guest at Flower Farm, as it was called. He entered 
into negotiations for a tract of land in the neigh- 
bourhood, and found pleasant occupation in hunting, 
fishing, and planning his house and grounds. Si- 
bella and the children often accompanied him in his 
excursions. The wide-spread prairie, covered with 
a thick carpet of grass and brilliant flowers, and 
dotted with isolated groves, like islands, charmed 
him with its novelty of beauty. " I am perpetu- 
ally astonished by the profusion and gorgeousness 
of nature in this region," said he. He gathered 
one of the plants at his feet, and presenting it to 
Sibella, asked whether that glowing blossom was 
not appropriately named the Torch Flower. " What 
do you think of dreams ?" she replied ; then seeing 
that he was surprised by the abruptness of the 
question, she told him she had dreamed, the night 
before his arrival, that she met him on the prairie, 
and received a torch-flower from his hand. He 
smiled, and said, " Its flame-colour might answer for 

Hymen's torch." He looked at her smilingly as 


he spoke; for he was bolder now than when he 
wrote the v Seeing the crimson tide mount 

into her cheeks, lie touched the flower in her hand, 
and said, "It Mushes more deeply than my old 
favourite the 1 ine." To relieve In t embarrass- 

ment, Sibella began to inquire about Mrs. Barton 
and her neighbours; adding, M Among all ti 
questions, I have not yet asked if yonr sister Ls 

is what the world calls living," he replied. 
"She has dim cried a wealthy old merchant, who 
dresses hex in velvet and diamonds ; and his lady 
rewards him by treating him with more indifference 
than she does her footman. Her acquaintance envy 
her elegant furniture and costly jewels ; and when 
they exclaim, 'How fortunate you are! You are 
surrounded by every thing the heart can desire t T 
she replies, with a languid motion of her fan, ' Yes, 
every thing — except love.' Julia never forgave 
me for marrying the daughter of a poor curate; 
but she was like you, Sibella, and that was what 
first interested me. If she had lived, I probably 
should never have seen America ; but after her 
death, I was lonely and restless. I wanted change. 
I knew that you had been in this country several 
years ; but I cannot say you were distinctly con- 
nected witli my plans. You never answered my 
letters, and I supposed you had long since for- 
gotten me. But I never saw an Eglantine without 
thinking of you ; and while I was crossing the At- 


Ian tic, I sometimes found myself conjecturing whe- 
ther I should ever happen to meet you, and whether 
I should find you married." Long explanations 
and confessions followed. The authorship of the 
mysterious verses was acknowledged, and their 
preservation avowed. The conversation was ex- 
ceedingly interesting to themselves, but would look 
somewhat foolish on paper. It has been well said, 
that "the words of lovers are like the rich wines 
of the south ; delicious in their native soil, but ren- 
dered vapid by transportation." 

Vf W vr W <fl> 

Mr. Yernon chose the site for his new dwelling 
with characteristic taste. It stood on an eminence, 
commanding a most lovely and extensive prospect. 
A flower- enamelled lawn, rich as embroidered vel- 
vet, and ornamented with graceful trees, descended 
from the front of the house to a bend in the river. 
It was all fresh from the hand of Nature. Nothing 
had been planted, and nothing removed, except a 
few trees to make room for a carriage-path. He 
had been advised to build an English villa ; but he 
disliked the appearance of assuming a style of more 
grandeur than his neighbours ; and Sibella thought 
a log-house, with its rough edges of bark, would 
harmonize better with the scenery. It was spacious 
and conveniently planned, and stood in the midst 
of a natural grove. Festoons of vines were trained 
all round it, clustering roses climbed up even to the 


roof, and the air was fragrant with Eglantines. The 
arbor, that William had made, was carefully re- 
moved thither, and placed in the garden, surrounded 
by a profusion of Ladies' Delights, in memory of 
the lost Mend. 

It was a fixed principle with Mr. Vernon that no 
man had a right to live in the world without doing 
his share of its work'. He imported seeds and 
scions, which Ik 1 planted and grafted himself, al- 
ways distributing a Libera] portion among his neigh- 
bours. " My fruit and vegetables will soon command 
a ready sale in the city market," said he ; " but the 
proceeds shall go toward a school-fund, and the es- 
tablishment of a Lyceum. I do not desire that our 
children should inherit great wealth. Life suffi- 
ciently abounds witli dangers and temptations, 
physical and mental, without adding that glittering 
snare for their manhood and womanhood. The 
wisest and kindest thing we can do for them is to 
educate equally themselves and the people among 
whom they are to live." 

" There spoke the same generous soul that chose 
the poor country-girl for a wife !" she exclaimed, 
" What can I ever do to prove the gratitude I feel?" 

Playfully he put his hand over her mouth, to 
stop that self-depreciation. They remained silent 
for a while, seated on the grassy slope, looking out 
upon the winding river and the noble trees. 
11 How much this scene resembles the parks and 
lawns of old England," said the happy bride. " If 


it were not for the deep stillness, and the absence 
of human habitations, I could almost imagine my- 
self in my native land." 

" I like it better than English parks and lawns, 
for two reasons," he replied. " I prefer it, because 
it is formed by Nature, and not by Art ; and Na- 
ture gives even to her quietest pictures peculiar 
touches of wild inimitable grace. Still more does 
the scene please me, because these broad acres are 
not entailed upon noblemen, who cannot ride over 
their estates in a week, while their poor tenantry 
toil through life without being allowed to obtain 
possession of a rood of land." 

Sibella looked at him with affectionate admira- 
tion, while she replied, " Truly, 'the child is father 
of the man.' There spoke the same soul that in- 
vited a tradesman's manly son to spend the va- 
cation with him, in preference to Lord Smallsoul." 

"I will never reprove my boy, if he brings 
home the manly son of a wood-sawyer to spend 
his school vacations with us," rejoined he. " But 
hark ! Hear our children laughing and shouting ! 

o o o 

What sound is more musical than the happy 
voices of children? See the dear little rogues 
racing over the carpet of wild-flowers I How they 
seem to love each other ! God be praised, they 
are free to enact the parts of Paul and Virginia in 
"this lovely solitude. May no rich relatives tempt 
them into fashionable life, and make shipwreck of 
their happiness." 




Sleep well ! Sleep well ! 

To music's spell; 

Thus hushing thee 

To reverie, 

Like ev'ning breeze, 

Through whisp'ring trees; 
Till mcm'ry and the lay 
Float dreamily away. 
Sleep well! Sleep well! 

May dreams bring near 

AH who are dear, 

With festal flow'rs 

From early hours ; 

While, softly free, 

This melody 
Drifts through thy tranquil dream, 
Like lilies on a stream. 
Sleep well! Sleep well ! 


Soften his hard, cold heart ! and show 
The power which in forbearance lies , 

And let him feel that mercy now 
Is better than old sacrifice I 

J. G. Whittier. 

Peter Barker belonged to that numerous class, 
who are neither better nor worse than other men. 
Left an orphan in his infancy, the paths of life 
were rough and lonely at the outset. He had 
a violent temper and a good heart. The first was 
often roused into activity, and punished with 
energy kindred to its own ; the last remained al- 
most undeveloped, for want of genial circumstances 
and reciprocated affection. One softening gleam 
fell upon his early path, and he loved it like the 
sunshine, without comprehending the great law of 
attraction that made it so very pleasant. When 
he attended school in the winter months, he always 
walked home with a little girl named Mary Wil- 
liams. On the play-ground he was with her, 
always ready to do battle with anybody who 
disobliged her. Their comrades laughed, and 
called him Mary's beau; and they blushed and 
felt awkward, though they had no idea what court- 


ino- meant. Things had arrived at this state of 
half-revealed consciousness, he being fourteen yea rs 
old, and Mary twrlve, when her friends removed 
to the West, and the warm, bright influence passed 
out of his life, lie never rightly knew whether lie 
was in love with Mary; but years afterwards, 
when people talked to him about marrying, he 
thought of her, wondering where she was, and 
whether she remembered him. When he drove 
his cows home from pasture, the blackberry bushes 
on the way brought up visions of his favourite 
school-mate, with her clean cape-bonnet thrown 
back, her glossy brown hair playing with the 
winds, and her innocent face smiling upon him 
with friendly greeting. "She was the best and 
prettiest child I ever saw," he often said to him- 
self; " I wonder whether she would be as pleasant 
now." Sometimes he thought of going to the 
West and seeking her out. But he knew not 
where to find her ; his funds were small, and his 
courage fell at the thought; " Oh, it is many years 
ago since we were children together. Perhaps I 
should find her married." Gradually this one ray 
of poetry faded out of his soul, and all his thoughts 
fell into the common prosaic mould. His lot was 
cast with rough people, who required much w T ork, 
and gave little sympathy. The image of his little 
mate floated farther and farther away, and more 
and more seldom her clear blue eyes smiled upon 
him through the rainbow-mists of the past, or from 


the air-castles of the future. In process of time, 
he married, after the same fashion that a large pro- 
portion of men do ; because it was convenient to 
have a wife, and there was a woman of good char- 
acter in the neighbourhood, willing to marry who- 
ever first offered her a respectable home. Her 
character bore the stamp of harmless mediocrity. 
She was industrious and patient, but ignorant, dull, 
and quietly obstinate. The neighbours said she was 
well suited to him, he was so rough and passionate ; 
and in the main he thought so himself; though her 
imperturbable calmness sometimes fretted him, as a 
rock chafes the lashing ocean into foam. The 
child that was born to them, they both loved better 
than they had ever loved ; and according to their 
light, they sincerely strove to do their duty. His 
bodily wants were well supplied, often at the cost 
of great weariness and self-sacrifice ; but their own 
rude training had given them few good ideas con- 
cerning the culture of an immortal soul. The 
infant did more for them, than they for him. 
Angelic influences, unseen and unheard amid the 
hard struggles of their outward life, became visible 
and audible through the unconscious innocence of 
their little one. For the second time in his life, a 
vision of beauty and love gleamed across the rug- 
ged path of that honest, laborious man. Vague im- 
pressions of beauty he had constantly received from 
the great panorama of the universe. His heart 
sometimes welcomed a bright flower in the sun- 
5 d 



shine or a cluster of lilies on the stream; he mar- 
vS at the splendor of the, dnhw, and some- 
Zes gazed reverently at the sun sn .kmg to 
rest in his rieh drapery of pnrple android. But 

didnol •» appertain .to to; xt did n^ento 

like ■■ magic charm into the sphere of his own 
te^ did the yiaionpf Mary Wilhams and 

rolTliSeJoe, The dormant tend to. 

v - in him leaped up at the smile ot ma bate, and 
I;.,. " nr,- of the little lingers made a dimple 
r&e&ther's heart. Like the outlmrstsot sprmg, 
after a Ion- cold winter, was tins revelation of m- 
tcy to him. When he plodded home, after a 
Sday'e work, it rested him body and send to 
Have the little one spring into Ins axn* ^ 
or come toddling along, tdtmg me httle ponder 
of milk, in eagerness to eat his supper on fathers 

kn But though this new influence seemed , to have 
in almost miraculous power over hi, nature, it 
covdd not quite subdue the force of temperament 
Zt haHt As the darling babe grew_ mto boy- 
hood he was sometimes cherished with injudicious 

W^luclted under the .dispensation *£-£ 
ment rather than attraction, and ne beliew im 
Tmost firmly. If his son committed a fault, he 


thought of no other cure than severity. If a neigh- 
bour did him an ill turn, he would observe, in pres- 
ence of the boy, "I will watch my chance to pay 
him for it." If the dog stole their dinner, when 
they were at work in the woods, he would say, 
" Kim after him, Joe, and give the rascal a sound 
beating." When he saw the child fighting with 
some larger lad, who had offended him, he would 
praise his strength and courage, and tell him never 
to put up with an insult. He was not aware that 
all these things were education, and doing far 
more to form his son's character than any thing he 
learned at school. He did not know it, because 
his thoughts had never been directed toward it. 
The only moral instruction he had ever received, 
had been from the minister of the parish ; and he 
usually preached about the hardheartedness of 
Jews two thousand years ago, rather than the 
errors and temptations of men and boys, who sat 
before him. 

Once he received an admonition from his neigh- 
bour Goodwin, which, being novel and unexpected, 
offended him, as an impertinent interference with 
his rights. He was riding home with Joe, then a 
lad of thirteen, when the horse took fright at a 
piece of white paper, that the wind blew across the 
road. Mr. Barker was previously in an ill humor, 
because a sudden squall of rain had wet some fine 
hay, all ready for the barn. Pursuing the system 
on which he had himself been educated, he sprang 



to the ground and cudgelled the poor beast unmer- 
cifully. Mr. Goodwin, who was passing by, in- 
quired the cause of so much severity, and remon- 
strated against it; assuring him that a horse was 
never cured of bad habits by violence. He spoke 
mildly, but Mr. Barker was irritated, and having 
told him to mind 1 1 is own business, he continued 
to whip the poor frightened animal. The humane 
neighbour turned away, saying, "That is a bad 
lesson for your son, Mr. Barker." 

" If you say much more, I will flog you, instead 
of the horse," muttered the angry man. "It is'nt 
his horse. What business is it to him V he added, 
turning to his son. 

lie did not reflect in what a narrow circuit he 
was nailing up the sympathies of his child, by such 
words as those. But when he was reseated in the 
wagon, he did not feel altogether pleased with him- 
self, and his inward uneasiness was expended on 
the horse. The poor bewildered animal, covered 
with foam, and breathing short and hard, tried his 
utmost to do his master's will, as far as he could 
understand it. But, nervous and terrified, con- 
stantly in expectation of the whip, he started at 
every sound. If he went too fast, he was reined 
in with a sudden jerk, that tore the corners of his 
mouth ; if he went too slow, the cruel crack of the 
whip made him tear over the ground, to be again 
restrained by the violent jerk. 

The sun was setting, and threw a radiant glow 



on every tree and little shrub, jewelled by the 
recent shower. Cows grazed peacefully in ver- 
dant hollows ; birds sang ; a little brook rippled co- 
sily by the wayside ; winds played gently with the 
flowers, and kissed the raindrops from their faces. 
But all this loveliness passed unheeded by those 
human hearts, because they had at the moment no 
inward beauty to harmonize with nature. Perhaps 
the familiar landscape seemed quite otherwise to 
the poor horse, than it would have done, had he 
travelled along those pleasant paths guided by a 
wise and gentle hand. 

Had Joseph continued to be little Joe, his eager 
welcome and loving prattle might soon have tamed 
the evil spirit in his father's soul that night. But 
he was a tall lad, who had learned to double up 
his fists, and tell other boys they had better let 
him alone, if they knew what was good for them- 
selves. He still loved his father better than any 
thing else in the world, but the charm and the 
power of infancy were gone. He reflected back the 
vexed spirit, like a too faithful mirror. He was no 
longer a transparent, unconscious medium for the 
influence of angels. 

Indeed, paternal affection gradually became a 
hardening, rather than a .softening influence. Am- 
bition for his son increased the love of accumula- 
tion ; and the gratification of this propensity nar- 
rowed his sympathies more and more. Joseph had 
within him the unexpanded germs of some noble 


qualities; but he inherited his father's passionate 
temperament with his mother's obstinacy ; and the 
education of such circumstances as I have described 
turned his energies and feelings into wrong chan- 
nels. The remark, "Itis'nt his horse; what busi- 
ness is it to himV heard in his boyhood, expressed 
the views and habits of his later years. But his 
mental growth, such as it was, pleased his father, 
who often said exultingly, " There is no danger of 
Joe. He knows how to fight his own way through 
the world." 

Such was their mutual product of character, 
when Mr. Barker was summoned to a jury, in a 
case involving life or death. He was vexed to be 
called away from his employments, and had never 
reflected at all upon the fearful responsibility of a 
juryman. James Lloyd, the prisoner, was a very 
young man, and his open, honest countenance gave 
no indication of capacity for crime ; but he was ac- 
cused of murder, and circumstantial evidence was 
strong against him. It was proved that a previous 
quarrel had existed between him and the murdered 
man ; and that they had been seen to take the same 
road, the prisoner in a state of intoxication, the 
night the violent deed was committed. Most peo- 
ple thought there was no doubt of his guilt ; others 
deemed the case by no means certain. Two of the 
jury were reluctant to convict him, and wished to 
find the evidence insufficient ; the penalty was so 
dreadful, and their feelings were so much touched 


by the settled misery of his youthful countenance. 
Others talked sternly of justice, and urged that the 
Scripture demanded blood for blood. Of this num- 
ber was Peter Barker. From the beginning, he 
was against the prisoner. The lawyer who pleaded 
for him had once been employed in a law-suit 
against Mr. Barker, and had gained the cause for 
his client. The juryman cherished a grudge against 
him for his sarcastic eloquence on that occasion. 
Moreover, it so happened that neighbour Goodwin, 
who years ago had reproved his severity to the 
horse, took compassionate interest in the accused. 
He often consulted with his lawyer, and seemed to 
watch the countenances of the jury anxiously. It 
was a busy season of the year, and the jury were 
impatient to be at their workshops and farms. Mr. 
Barker would not have admitted it, even to him- 
self, but all these circumstances helped to increase 
his hardness against the prisoner. By such incon- 
ceivably slight motives is the conduct of men often 
swayed on the most important occasions. 

" If the poor young fellow really did commit the 
act," said one of the jury, • ■ it seems likely that he 
did it in a state of intoxication. I was once drunk 
myself; and they told me afterward that I had quar- 
relled with a man, and knocked him down a high 
flight of steps ; but I had no recollection of it. If 
I had killed him, and they had hung me for it, what 
an awful thing it would have been for my poor 
father and mother. It taught me a good lesson, 


for I was never again intoxicated. Perhaps tin's 
poor youth might profit by his dreadful experience, 
if a chanc allowed him. lie is so young! 

and there is nothing had in his countenance." 

"As for his womanly face," replied Mr. Barker, 
"there is no trusting to that. The worst villains 
are not always the worst-looking. As for his being 
intoxicated, tl no telling whether it is true or 

not That cunning lawyer may have made up the 
story, for the sake of exciting compassion; and the 
witi oay be more than willing enough to be- 

lieve every thi ange in the prisoner's conduct 

was the result of intoxication. Moreover, it won't 
do to admit that plea in extenuation ; for then, don't 
you see, a man who wants to kill his enemy has 
only to get drunk in the first place? If anybody 
killed my Joe, drunk or not drunk, I should want 
him to swing for it." 

By such remarks, urged in his vehement way, 
he swayed minds more timid and lenient than his 
own, without being fully aware of what he was do- 
ing, lie was foreman of the jury; and when the 
awful moment arrived on which depended the life 
of a fellow being, he pronounced the word " Guil- 
ty," in a strong, firm voice. The next instant his 
eye fell on the prisoner, standing there so pale, and 
still, looking at him with such fixed despair. There 
was something in the face that moved him strongly. 
He turned quickly away, but the vision was, before 
him ; always, and everywhere before him. " This 


is weakness," he said to himself. " I have merely 
done my duty. The law required it. I have done 
my duty." But still the pale young face looked at 
him ; always, and everywhere, it looked at him. 

He feared to touch a newspaper, for he wished 
not to know when the day of execution would ar- 
rive. But officious neighbours, ignorant of his state 
of mind, were eager to talk upon the subject; and 
when drawn into such discourse, he strove to for- 
tify his own feelings by dwelling on all the worst 
circumstances of the case. Notwithstanding all his 
efforts, the night preceding the execution, he had 
troubled dreams, in which that ghastly young face 
was always conspicuous. "When he woke, he saw 
it in the air. It walked beside him as he ploughed 
the fields, it stood before him on the threshold of his 
own door. All that the merciful j uryman had sug- 
gested came before him with painful distinctness. 
Could ■ there be a doubt that the condemned had 
really committed murder ? Was he intoxicated ? 
Might he have happened to be intoxicated for the 
first time in his life ? And he so young ! But he 
drove these thoughts away ; saying ever to himself, 
"The law required it. I merely did my duty." 
Still every thing looked gloomy to him. The even- 
ing clouds seemed like funeral palls, and a pale 
despairing face gazed at him forever. 

For the first time in his manhood, he craved a 
companion in the darkness. Neighbours came in, 
and described the execution ; and while they talked, 


the agitated juryman beat the fire-brands into a 
thousand pieces, and spoke never a word. They 
told how the youth had written a long letter to his 
mother, and had died cairn and resigned. " By the 
way, perhaps you knew his mother, Mr. Barker," 
said one ; " they tell me she used to live in this 
neighbourhood. Do you remember a girl by the 
name of Mary Williams?" 

The tongs dropped from Mr. Barker's hand, as 
be gasped out, " Mary Williams! Was he her son? 
God forgive me! Was he her son?'' And the 
strong man laid his head upon the table and wept. 
There was silence in the room. At last, the lo- 
quacious neighbour said, in a subdued tone, "lam 
sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn't know she was 
a friend of yours." 

The troubled juryman rose hastily, walked to the 
window, looked out at the stars, and, clearing his 
choked voice, said, " It is many years since I knew 
her. But she was a good-tempered, pretty girl; 
and it seems but yesterday that we used to go to- 
gether to pick our baskets full of berries. And so 
she was his mother? I remember now there was 
something in his eye that seemed familiar to me." 

Perhaps the mention of Mary's beauty, or the 
melting mood, so unusual with her husband, might 
have excited a vague feeling of jealousy in Mrs. Bar- 
ker. Whatever might have been the motive, she 
said, in her demure way, without raising her eyes 
from her knitting, "Well, it was natural enough 


to suppose the young man had a mother ; and other 
mothers are likely to have hearts that can feel, as 
well as this Mary Williams." 

He only answered by shaking his head slowly, 
and repeating, as if to himself, " Poor Mary ! and 
so he was her son." 

Joseph came in, and the details of the dreadful 
scene were repeated and dwelt upon, as human be- 
ings are prone to dwell on all that excites strong 
emotion. To him the name of Mary Williams con- 
jured up no smiling visions of juvenile love; and 
he strove to fortify his father's relenting feelings, 
by placing in a strong light all the arguments in 
favour of the prisoner's guilt. The juryman was 
glad to be thus fortified, and replied in a firm, re- 
assured voice, " At all events, I did my duty." 
Yet, for months after, the pale young face looked 
at him despairingly from the evening air, and came 
between him and the sunshine. But time, which 
softens all things, drifted the dreary spectre into dim 
distance ; and Mr. Barker's faculties were again 
completely absorbed in making money for his son. 

Joseph was called a fine, promising young man ; 
but his conduct was not altogether satisfactory to 
his parents. He was fond of dress and company, 
and his impetuous temperament not ^infrequently 
involved him in quarrels. On two or three of these 
occasions, they feared he had been a little excited 
by drink. But he was, in reality, a good-hearted 
fellow, and, like his rough father, had undeveloped 


germs of deep tenderness within him. His father's 
life was bound up within his ; his mother loved 
him with all the energy of which her sluggish na- 
ture was capable ; and notwithstanding the inequal- 
ities of his violent and capricious temper, the neigh- 
bours loved him also. 

What, then, was their consternation, when it was 
rumoured that on his twenty-fourth birth-day he 
had been arrested for murder ! And, alas! it was too 
true that his passions had thus far over-mastered 
his reason. lie wished to please a young girl in 
the vicinity ; and she treated him coolly, because 
a rival had informed her that he was seen intoxi- 
cated, and in that state had spoken over-boldly of 
being sure of her love. He drank again, to drown 
his vexation; and while the excitement of the 
draught was on him, he met the man who informed 
against him. His exulting rival was injudicious 
enough to exclaim, "Ho! here you are, drunk 
again ! What a promising fellow for a husband !" 
Unfortunately, an axe was at hand, and, in the 
double fury of drink and rage, he struck with it 
again and again. One hour after, he would have 
given all he ever hoped to possess, nay, he would 
gladly have died, could he have restored the life 
he had so wantonly destroyed. 

Thus, Mr. Barker was again brought into a court 
of justice on an affair of life and death. How dif- 
ferently all questions connected with the subject 
presented themselves now ! As he sat beside that 


darling son, the pride of his life, his only hope on 
earth, oh, how he longed for words of fire, to plead 
that his young existence might be spared for repent- 
ance and amendment ! How well he remembered 
the juryman's plea for youth and intoxication! and 
with what an agony of self-reproach he recalled his 
own hard answer ! With intense anxiety he watch- 
ed the countenance of the jury for some gleams of 
compassion ; but ever and anon, a pale young face 
loomed up between him and them, and gazed at 
him with fixed despair. The vision of other years 
returned to haunt him ; and Joseph, his best belov- 
ed, his only one, stood beside it, pale and hand- 
cuffed, as he had been. The voice that pronounced 
his son guilty sounded like an awful echo of his 
own ; and he seemed to hear Mary Williams whis- 
per, " And my son also was very young." 

That vigorous off-shoot from his own existence, 
so full of life and feeling, and, alas, of passion, 
which misguides us all — he must die ! No earthly 
power can save him. May the All Merciful 
sustain that poor father, as he watches the heavy 
slumber of his only son in that dark prison ; and 
while he clasps the cold hand, remembers so well 
the dimpled fingers he used to hold in his, when 
little Joe sat upon his knee and prattled childish 

And the All Merciful was with him, and 
sent influences to sustain him through that terri- 
ble agony. It did not break his heart ; it melted 


and subdued him. The congealed sympathies of 

his nature flowed under this ordeal of fire ; and, 
for the first time, he bad B realizing sense that every 
human being is, or has been, somebody's little Joe. 

» How kind you are to me !" said the prisoner, 
in answer to his soothing words and affectionate 

He replied meekly, " Would I bad always been 
so!" Then turning his face away, and earnestly 
pressing Joseph's hand, he said, in an agitated 
voice, " Tell me truly, my son, does it ever occur 
to you, that I may have been to blame for this 
great misfortune that has befallen you?" 
' » You, dear father!" he exclaimed, "I do not 
understand what you mean." 

Still keeping his face turned away, and speaking 
with effort, Mr. Barker said, "Do you remember 
once, when I was beating my horse cruelly, (you 
were a boy of twelve then) neighbour Goodwin re- 
marked to me, that I was giving a bad lesson to 
my son ? I was angry with him at the time ; and 
perhaps that resentment helped to make me hard 
toward a poor young fellow who is dead and gone; 
but his words keep ringing in my ears now. May 
God, in his mercy, forgive me, if I have ever done 
or said any thing to lead you into this great sin I 
Tell me, Joseph, do you ever think it might have 
happened otherwise, if you had had a less violent 


« My poor father !" exclaimed the prisoner, press- 


ing his hand convulsively, "it almost breaks my 
heart to hear you thus humble yourself before me, 
who so little deserve it at your hands. Only for- 
give me my violent outbreaks, dear father ! for in 
the midst of them all, I always loved you. You 
have always sought to do me good, and would 
rather have died, than have led me into any harm. 
But since I have been here in prison, I have 
thought of many things, that never occurred to me 
before. The world and all things in it are placed 
before me in a different light. It seems to me men 
are all wrong in their habits and teachings. I see 
now that retaliation and hatred are murder. I 
have read often, of late, the exhortation of Jesus 
to forgive our brother his offences, not only seven 
times, but seventy times seven; and I feel that 
thus it ought to be with human beings in all their 
relations with each other. What I have done 
cannot be undone ; but if it will be any satisfaction 
to you, rest assured that I did not intend to kill 
him. I was wretched, and I was fool enough to 
drink ; and then I knew not what I did. Violent 
as my temper has been, I never conceived the 
thought of taking his life." 

" I know it, my son ; I know it," he said ; " and 
that reflection consoles me in some degree. While 
I have a loaf of bread, I will share it with the 

mother and sister of him you -" he hesitated 

shuddered, and added in a low deep tone-" V ou 


"I was going to ask that of you," replied the 
prisoner; "and one thing more, dear father; try 
to bear up bravely under this terrible blow, for the 
sake of my poor patient mother." 

"I will, I will," he answered ; " and now my dear 
misguided boy, say you forgive your poor father 
for the teachings of his violent words and actions. 
I did not foresee the consequences, my child. I 
did it in my ignorance. But it was wrong, wrong, 
all wrong." 

The young man threw himself on his father's 
bosom, and they had no other utterance but tears. 
* ■* * * * 

After his only strong link to life was broken by 
the violent arm of the law, Mr. Barker was a 
changed man; silent, and melancholy, patient, 
gentle, and forgiving to all. He never complained 
of the great sorrow that wasted away his life ; but 
the neighbours saw how thin and sad he looked, 
and the roughest natures felt compassion for him. 

Every year, she who had been Mary Williams 
received a hundred dollar note. He never whis- 
pered to any mortal that it was sent by the juryman 
who helped to condemn her son to death; but 
when he died, a legacy of a thousand dollars to her 
showed that he never forgot the pale despairing 
face, that for years had haunted his dreams. 


Spirit, who waftest me where'er I will, 
And see'st with finer eyes what infants see ; 
Feeling all lovely truth, 
With the wise health of everlasting youth. 

Leigh Hunt. 

In these rational days, most people suppose that 
fairies do not exist; but they are mistaken. The 
mere fact that fairies have been imagined proves 
that there are fairies; for fancy, in her oddest 
freaks, never paints any thing which has no exist- 
ence. She merely puts invisible agencies into visi- 
ble forms, and embodies spiritual influences in 
material facts. It seems a wild fiction when we 
read of beautiful young maidens floating in gossa- 
mer, and radiant with jewels, who suddenly change 
into mocking old hags, or jump off into some slimy 
pool, in the form of a frog; or like the fair Me- 
lusina, doomed to become a fish on certain days of 
the year, and those who happened to see her in 
that plight could never again see her as the Fair 
Melusina. Yet who that has grown from youth 
to manhood, who that has been in love and out of 
love, has not found the fairies of his life playing 
him just such tricks ? 

In the fascinating ballet of Giselle, so poetic in 
6* e 


conception, and so gracefully expressed in music, 
there is deep and tender meaning for all who have 
lived long, or lived much. Is not Memory a fairy 
spirit, like Giselle, dancing round graves, hover- 
in- between us and the stars, flitting across our 
woodland rambles, throwing us garlands and love- 
tokens from the past, coming to us in dreams, 
so real that we clasp our loved ones, and gliding 
away when morning -learns on the material world? 
Oh yes there are feiries, both good and bad; 
and they are with us according as we obey or dis- 
obey their laws of being. One, with whom I made 
acquaintance as soon as I could run alone, has vis- 
ited me ever since; though sometimes she pouts 
and hides herself, and will not soon come back. I 
am always sad when she is gone ; for she is a 
wonder-working little sprite, and she takes all my 
wealth away with her. If you were to gaze on a 
field of dandelions, if she were not at your elbow, 
you would merely think they were pretty posies, 
and would make excellent greens for dinner. But 
if she touches you, and renders you clairvoyant, 
they will surprise you with their golden beauty, 
and every blossom will radiate a halo. Sometimes 
she fills the whole air with rainbows, as if Nature 
were out for a dance, with all her ribbons on. A 
sup of water, taken from a little brook, in the hol- 
low of her hand, has made me more merry than 
would a goblet of wine. She has often filled my 
apron with opals, emeralds, and sapphires, and I 


was never weary of looking at them ; but those who 
had wandered away from the fairy, and forgotten 
her treasures, sneered at my joy, and said, " Fie 
upon thee ! Wilt thou always be a child ? They 
are nothing but pebbles." 

Last Spring, my friendly little one guided me to 
a silver-voiced waterfall at Weehawken, where a 
group of German forget-me-nots were sitting with 
their feet in the water. Their little blue eyes 
laughed when they saw me. I asked what made 
them smile in my face so lovingly. They an- 
swered, " Because we hear a pleasant song, and you 
know what it says to us." It was not I who knew ; 
it was the fairy ; but she had magnetized me, and so 
I heard all that was said to her. 

A wealthy invalid passed by, afflicted with dys- 
pepsia. He did not see the flowers smile, or hear 
the waterfall singing his flowing melody of love to 
the blue eyes that made his home so beautiful. 
He had parted from the fairy long ago. He told 
her she was a fool, and that none would ever grow 
rich, who suffered themselves to be led by her. 
She laughed and said, " Thou dost not know that 
I alone am rich; always, and every where, rich. 
But go thy ways, vain worldling. Shoulclst thou 
come back to me, I will ask if thou hast ever found 
any thing equal to my gems and rainbows." She 
gazed after him for a moment, and laughed again, 
as she exclaimed, " Aha, let him try !" 

The. gay little spirit spoke truly; for indeed 


there is nothing so real as her unrealities. Those 
■who have parted from her complain that she made 
them large promises in their early time, and has 
never kept them; bnt to those who remain with 
her trustfully, she more than fulfils all. For them 
she covers the moss-grown rock with gold, and 
fills the wintry air with diamonds. It is many 
years since she first began to tell me her fine stories. 
But this very last New Year's day she led me out 
into the country, and lighted up all the lands- ■ 
as I went, so that it seemed lovelier than the rarest 
pictures. The round bright face of the moon smile< 1 
at me, and said, "I know thee well. Thou hast 
built many castles up here. Come to them wdien- 
ever thou wilt. Their rose-coloured drapery, with 
rainbow fringes, is more real than silken festoons 
in Broadway palaces." I was glad at heart, and I 
said to my foiry, " The sheriff cannot attach our 
furniture, or sell our castles at auction." "No in- 
deed," she replied. " He cannot even see them. 
He has forgotten me. He thinks all the gems I 
show are only pebbles, and all my prismatic man- 
tles mere soap-bubbles." 

This simple little sprite says much richer things 
than the miracles she does. Her talk is all alive. 
She is a poet, though she knows it not ; or, rather 
because she knows it not. She tells me the odd- 
est and most brilliant things; and sometimes I 
write them down imperfectly, as well as I can re- 
member them. Matter-of-fact persons shake their 


heads, and say, "What on earth does the woman 
mean ? I never see and hear such things." And 
grave people raise their spectacles and inquire, 
" Can you point me out any moral, or any use, in 
all this stuff?" " There is no sense in it," says 
one ; " The writer is insane," says another ; " She's 
an enthusiast, but we must pardon that weakness," 
says a third, more magnanimous than others. The 
fairy and I have great run together, while we listen 
to their jokes and apologies. The frolicsome little 
witch knows very well that it is she who says the 
things that puzzle them ; and she knows the mean- 
ing very well ; but she never tells it to those who 
"speer questions." 

She is a philosopher, too, as well as a poet, with- 
out being aware of it. She babbles all manner of 
secrets, without knowing that they are secrets. If 
you were to propound to her a theory concerning 
the relation between tones and colours, she would 
fold her wings over her face and drop asleep. 
But sound a flute, and she will leap up and ex- 
claim, "Hear that beautiful, bright azure sound I" 
And if oboes strike in, she will smile all over, and 
say, "Now the yellow flowers are singing. How 
pert and naive they are!" It was she who led 
the little English girl to the piano, and put a melo- 
dy of cowslip meadows in her brain; and as the 
child improvised, she smiled, and said ever to her- 
self, " This is the tune with the golden spots." 
But this genial little fairy is easily grieved and 


estranged. Her movements are impulsive, she 
abhors calculators, and allows no questions. If 
she shows you a shining gem, be careful not to 
inquire what would be its price in the market; 
otherwise its lustre will fade instantly, and you will 
have to ask others whether the thing you hold in 
your hand has any beauty or value. If she beck- 
ons into blooming paths, follow her in simple faith, 
whether she leads to castles in the moon, or lifts 
up a coverlet of leaves to peep at little floral spirits 
sound asleep, with their arms twined round the 
fragrant blossoms of the arbutus. She carries 
with her Aladdin's lamp, and all the things she 
looks upon are luminous with transfigured glory. 
Take heed not to inquire where the path will lead to, 
whether others are accustomed to walk in it, or whe- 
ther they will believe your report of its wonderful 
beauty. Above all, be careful nojto wish that such 
visions may' be kept from the souls of others, that 
your own riches may seem marvellous and pecu- 
liar. Wish this but for a single instant and you 
will find yourself all alone, in cold gray woods, 
where owls hoot, and spectral shadows seem to lie 
in wait for you. But if with a full heart you crave 
forgiveness for the selfish thought, and pray earnest- 
ly that the divine Spirit of Beauty may be revealed 
to all, and not one single child of God be excluded 
from the radiant palace, then will the fairy come 
to you again, and say, "Now thou and I are 
friends again. Give me thy hand, and I will lead 


thee into gardens of paradise. Because thou hast 
not wished to shut up any thing, therefore thou 
shalt possess all things." Instantly the cold gray 
woods shine through a veil of gold ; the shadows 
dance, and all the little birds sing, " Joy be with 
thee." A spirit nods welcome to you from every 
cluster of dried grass ; a soul beams through the 
commonest pebble ; ferns bow before you more 
gracefully than the plumes of princes ; and verdant 
mosses kiss your feet more softly than the richest 
velvets of Genoa. 

Trust the good little fairy. Be not disturbed by 
the mockery of those who despise her simple joys. 
She said truly, " I alone am rich ; always, and every- 
where, rich." 


The busy bees, up coming from the meadows 
To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers, 
Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar. 

Leigh Hunt. 

Wergelakd was one of the most popular poets 
Norway has ever produced. He rhymed with 
wonderful facility, and sometimes, when a rush of 
inspiration came upon him, he would write verses 
during a whole day and night, with untiring rapid- 
ity, scarcely pausing to eat, or to rest his hand. 
In the poems which expressed his own inward life 
there was often something above common compre- 
hension ; but, in addition to those higher efforts, 
he wrote a great number of verses for the peas- 
antry, in all the peculiar dialects of their various 
districts. The merest trifle that flowed from his 
pen is said to have contained some sparkling fancy, 
or some breathing of sentiments truly poetic. He 
was an impassioned lover of nature, and in his 
descriptions of natural objects was peculiar for 
making them seem alive. Thus in one of his 
poems he describes the winds coming through 
clefts of rock, forming a powerful current in the 


fiord, driving white-crested waves before them, 
like a flock of huge storm-birds. A lawyer, who 
passes through the current in a boat, imagines the 
great waves to be angry spectres of the many poor 
clients whom he has wronged. He throws one 
ten dollars, another twenty, another fifty, to pacify 
them. At last, a wondrous tall wave stretches 
forth his long neck, as if to swallow him. The 
terrified lawyer throws him a hundred dollars, 
imploring him to be merciful. Just then, the boat 
turns a corner of the rock, out of the current. 
The great wave eagerly bends his long arm round 
the rock, and tries to clutch him ; then retreats, 
disappointed at his escape. 

Wergeland had a strongly marked head, full of 
indentations, like a bold rocky shore. He was an 
athletic, earnest, jovial man, and enjoyed life with a 
keen zest. His manner of telling a story was inimit- 
ably funny and vivacious. While he was settling 
his spectacles, before he began to speak, a smile 
would go mantling all over the lower part of his 
face, announcing that something good was coming. 
His soul went forth with warm spontaneousness to 
meet all forms of being ; and this lively sympathy 
seemed to attract both men and animals toward 
him magnetically. He was accustomed to saddle 
his own horse, which stood loose in the barn, 
among pet rabbits, pet pigeons, pet birds, all sorts 
of poultry, and a favourite cat. These creatures 
all lived in the greatest friendship together. They 


knew their master's voice perfectly well ; and the 
moment he opened the door, they would all come 
neighing, purring, cooing, hd: rowing, caper- 

ing and fluttering about him. His cottage was a 
picturesque place, ornamented with all sorts of 
moss 3, vines, and flowers. Under it was a grotto 
made of rocks and shells, in which were an old 
hermit, with a long heard, and various other gro- 
tesque figures, carved in wood. T! bo was 
occasionally lighted up in the evening, and the 
images, seen among flickering shadows, excited 
great awe in the minds of peasant children. 

This gifted and genial man, who lived in such 
loving companionship with nature, was called 
away from the earth, which seemed to him so 
cheerful, before he had passed the middle term of 
human life. The news of his death was received 
w r ith lamentation by all classes in Norway. 
Crowds of people went to Christiana to bid fare- 
well to the lifeless body of their favorite poet. 
While in the last stage of consunrption, in May, 
1845, he wrote the following verses, which were 
read to me by one of his. countrymen, who trans- 
lated them literally, as he w r ent along. Even 
through this imperfect medium, my heart was 
deeply touched by their childlike simplicity and 
farewell sadness. The plaintive voice seemed to 
become my own, and uttered itself thus, in English 
rhyme, which faithfully preserves the sense of the 
original : 



Oh, save me, save me, gentle Spring ! 
Bring healing on thy balmy wing ! 
I loved thee more than all the year. 
To no one hast thou been more dear. 

Bright emeralds I valued less, 
Than early grass, and water-cress. 
Gem of the year I named thy flower, 
Though roses grace fair Summer's bower. 

The queenly ones, with fragrant sighs, 
Tried to allure thy poet's eyes ; 
But they were far less dear to me, 
Than thy simple wild anemone. 

Bear witness for me, little flower ! 
Beloved from childhood's earliest hour ; 
And dandelions, so much despised, 
Whose blossoms more than gold I prized. 

I welcomed swallows on the wing, 
And loved tnern for their news of Spring. 
I gave a feast for the earliest one, 
As if a long-lost child had come, 

Blest harbingers of genial hours, 
Unite your voices with the flowers ! 


Dear graceful birds, pour forth your prayer, 
That nature will her poet spare ! 

Plead with the Maker of the rain! 
That he will chilling showers restrain ; 
And my poor breast no longer feel 
Sharp needle-points of frosty steel. 

Thou beautiful old maple tree ! 
For my love's sake, pray thou for me ! 
Thy leaf-buds, op'ning to the sun, 
Like pearls I counted ev'ry one. 

I wished I might thy grandson be, 

Dear, ven'rable old maple tree ! 

That my young arms might round thee twine, 

And mix my vernal crown with thine. 

Ah, even now T , full well I ween, 
Thou hast thy robe of soft light-green. 
I seem to hear thee whisp'ring slow 
To the vernal grass below. 

Stretch thy strong arms toward the sky, 
\ And pray thy poet may not die ! 

I will heal thy scars with kisses sweet, 
And pour out wine upon thy feet. 

Blessings on the patriarch tree ! 
Hoarsely he intercedes for me ; 
And little flowers, with voices mild, 
Beg thee to spare thy sufF'ring child. 


Fair season, so beloved by me ! 
Thy young and old all plead with thee. 
Oh, heal me, with thy balmy wing ! 
I have so worshipped thee, sweet Spring 

The following lines, written two clays before he 
died, were addressed to a fragrant, golden-coloured 
flower whose English name I cannot ascertain 


Sweet flower ! before thy reign is o'er, 
I shall be gone, to return no more, 
Before thou losest thy crown of gold, 
I shall lie low in the cold dark mould. 

Open the window, and raise me up ! 
My last glance must rest on her golden cup. 
My soul will kiss her, as it passes by 
And wave farewell from the distant sky. 

Yea, twice will I kiss thy fragrant lip, 
Where the wild honey-bee loves to sip. 
The first, I will give for thy own dear sake ; 
The second, thou must to my rose-bush take. 

I shall sleep sound in the silent tomb, 
Before the Dcautiful bush will bloom ; 
But ask her the first fair rose to lay 

On her lover's grave, to fade away. 



Give her the kiss I gave thee to ke 
And bid her come on my breast to sleep ; 
And, glowing flower, with s breath, 

Be thou our bridal torch in death! 


Tis lone on the waters, 

When eve's mournful bell, 
Sends forth to the sunset 

A note of farew ell. 

When, borne with the shadows 

And winds, as they sweep, 

There eomes a fond memory 

Of home o'er the deep. 

< Hemans. 

In the old town of Biidesheim, on the Khine, is 
one of those dilapidated castles, which impart such 
picturesque beauty to the scenery of Germany. 
Among the ruins, Karl Schelling, a poor hard- 
working peasant, made for himself a home. With 
him dwelt his good wife Liesbet, and two blue- 
eyed children, named Fritz and Gretchen. A few 
cooking utensils, and wooden stools, constituted all 
their furniture; and one brown-and- white goat, 
was all they had to remind them of flocks and 
herds. But these poor children led a happier life, 
than those small imitations of humanity, who are 
bred up in city palaces, and drilled to walk through 
existence in languid drawing-room paces. From 
moss-grown arches in the old ruins, they could 


watch boats and vc? iing over the sparkling 

Ehine, and bi -lows golden with sun- 

shine. On the terrace of the i • wind had 

Lted many flowers. Itwas richly oarpeted with 
various kinds of moss, tufts of grass, bin 
and little pinks. 11 ire K&r] often carried I 
to 1'ced, and left the children to tend upon him. 
There had been a stori rt on the roof, from 
time immemorial; and the little on irly 

taught to ) ice the bir ►mens of blessing. 

Their simple young souls were quite unconscious 
of poverty. The splendid Rhine, with all its 
ands — the broad pasture-landsf, with herds pei 
fully grazing — houses n y woody hills 

— all seemed to belong to them; and in reality, 
they p'o i them more truly than many a rich 

man, who 

"One moment gazes on Lis flowers, 
The next they are forgot; 
And eateth of his rarest fruits, 
As though he ate them not." 

On their little heaps of straw, brother and sister 
slept soundly in each other's arms; and if the 
hooting of an owl chanced to wake them, some 
bright star looked in with friendly eye, through 
chinks in the walls, and said, " Go to sleep, little 
ones; for all little children are dear to the good 

Thus, with scanty food and coarse clothes, 


plenty of pure air and blue sky, Fritz and his sis- 
ter went hand in hand over their rugged but 
flower-strewn path of life, till he was nearly seven 
years old. Then came Uncle Heinrich, his mother's 
brother, and said the boy could be useful to him 
at the mill, where he worked ; and if the parents 
were willing to bind him to his service, he would 
supply him with food and clothing, and give him 
an outfit when he came of age. Tears were in 
Liesbet's eyes ; for she thought how lonely it would 
seem to her and little Gretchen, when they should 
no longer hear Fritz mocking the birds, or singing 
aloud to the high heaven. But they were very 
poor, and the child must earn his bread. So, with 
much sorrow to part with father and mother, and 
Gretchen, the goat and the stork, and with some 
gladness to go to new scenes, Fritz departed from 
the old nest that had served him for a home. 
Mounted with Uncle Heinrich, on the miller's don- 
key, he ambled along through rocky paths, by deep 
ravines and castle-crowned hills, with here and 
there glimpses of the noble river, flowing on, bright 
and strong, reflecting images of spires, cottages, 
and vine-covered slopes. When he arrived at his 
new home, the good grandmother gave him right 
friendly welcome, and promised to set up on her 
knitting-needles a striped blue cap for him to wear. 
Uncle Heinrich was kind, in his rough way ; but 
he thought it an excellent plan for boys to eat little 
and work hard. Fritz, remembering the blossom- 


carpet of the old castle, was always delighted to 
spy a clump of flowers. His uncle told him they 
looked well enough, but he wondered anybody 
should ever plant them, since they were not useful 
cither to eat or wear; and that when he grew older, 
he would doubtless think more of pence than posies. 
Thus the child began to be ashamed, as of some- 
tiling wrong, when h caught digging a flower. 
But his laborious and economical relative taught 
him many orderly and thrifty ways, which after* 
ward had great influence on his success in life; 
and fortunately a love for the beautiful could not 
be pressed out of him. Kind, all-embracing Nature 
took him in her arms, and whispered many things 
to preserve him from becoming a mere animal. 
All day long lie was hard at work ; but the blos- 
soming tree was his friend, and the bright little 
mill-stream chatted cozily, and smiled when the 
good grandmother gave it his clothes to wash. 
The miller's donkey, ambling along through sun- 
lighted paths over the hills, was a picture to him. 
Prom his small garret window he could see the 
mill-wheel scattering bright drops in the moon- 
light ; and he fell asleep to the gentle lullaby of 
ever-flowing water. Other education than this he 
had not. 

"His only teachers had been woods and rills; 
The silence that is in the starry sky, 
The sleep that is among the lonely hills." 


An aged neighbour, cotemporary with the grand- 
mother, took a great liking to Fritz ; and on Sun- 
clays, when no work could be done, he was often 
allowed to go and take dinner or supper there. 
The old man had traversed nearly all Germany as 
a peddler, and had come to die in the old homestead 
near the mill, where he had worked when a boy. 
He knew by heart all the wild fairy legends of the 
country, and, in his character of peddler-guest, had 
acquired a talent for relating them in a manner 
peculiarly - amusing and exciting to children. In 
the course of his travels, he had likewise collected 
many things which seemed very remarkable to the 
inexperienced eye of Fritz ; such as curious smok- 
ing-pipes and drinking-cups, and images in all the 
various costumes of Germany. But what most at- 
tracted his attention was an ancient clock, brought 
from Copenhagen when the peddler's father was a 
young man. "When this clock was in its right 
mind, it could play twelve tunes, about as simple 
as " Molly put the kettle on." But the friction of 
many years had so worn the cogs of the wheels, 
that it was frightfully out of tune. This did not 
trouble the boy's strong nerves, and he was pro- 
digiously amused with the sputtering, seething, 
jumping, jabbering sounds it made, when set in 
motion. To each of the crazy old tunes he gave 
some droll name. " There goes the Spitting Cat," 
he would say; "now let us hear the Old Hen." 

Father Eudolph called the rickety old machine 


his Blacking Box; because he had bought it with 

the proceeds of a peculiar kind of blacking, of his 
own manufacture. lie was always praising this 
blacking; and one day he said, "I have never 
told any one the secret of making it; but if you 
are a good boy, Fritz, I will show you how it is 
done." The child could not otherwise than res; 
what had procured such a wonderful clock; and 
when he fell asleep that night, th< r 
his mind undefined visions of being able, some time 
or other, to purchase such a comical machine for 
himself. This seemed a very unimportant incident 
of his childhood; but it was the introduction of a 
thread, that reappeared again in his web of life. 

Fritz passed at the old mill four years of health, 
happiness, and hard labor. For three years, Father 
Rudolph was an unfailing source of entertainment. 
Alternately with his comic old songs, and wild 
legends of fairies and goblins, he imparted much 
of a traveller's discursive observation, and thorough 
practical knowledge concerning the glossy jet black- 
ing. At last he fell asleep, and the boy heard that 
pleasant old voice no more, except in the echoing 
caves of memory. The good grandmother survived 
the companion of her youth only a few months. 
The ancient ballads she used to croon at her spin- 
ning-wheel, had caught something of the monoto- 
nous flow of the water, which forever accompanied 
them ; and Fritz, as he passed up and down from 
the mill to the brook, missed the quaint old melo- 


dies, as he would have missed the rustling of the 
leaves, the chirping of crickets, or any other dear 
old familiar sound. He missed, too, her kind 
motherly ways, and the little comforts with which 
her care supplied him. With the exception of his 
rough, but really kind-hearted uncle, he was now 
alone in the world. He had visited Kudesheim 
but once, and had then greatly amused Gretchen 
with his imitations of the crazy clock. But his 
parents had since removed to a remote district, 
and he knew not when he should see dear Gretchen 
again. As none of them could read or write, there 
came no tidings to cheer the long years of separa- 
tion. How his heart yearned at times for the good 
mother and the joyous little sister !• 

But when Uncle Heinrich announced his in- 
tention of removing to America, the prospect of 
new adventures, and the youthful tendency to look 
on the bright side of things, overbalanced the pain 
of parting from father-land. It is true the last night 
he slept at the old mill, the moonlight had a fare- 
well sadness in its glance, and the little stream 
murmured more plaintively as it flowed. Fritz 
thought perhaps they knew he was going away. 
They certainly seemed to sigh forth, "We shall 
see thee no more, thou bright, strong child ! We 
remain, but thou art passing away !" 

When the emigrants came to the sea-port, every 
thing was new and exciting to the juvenile im- 
agination of Fritz. The ships out in the harbor 


]n.>kcd like great white birds, Bailing through the 
air. How pleasant it must be thus to glide over 
the wide waters! But between a ship in the 
and the ship we are in, th< the 

usual difference between the ideal and the ac1 
There was little romance in the crowded cabin, 
with hundreds of poor emigrants eating, drinking, 
and smoking, amid the odour of bilge-water, and 
the dreadful nausea of the sea. Poor Fritz Ion 
for the pure atmosphere and fresh-flowi ok, 

at the mill. However, there was always America 
in prospect, painted to his imagination like Islands 
of the Blest. Uncle Heinrich said he should grow 
rich there; and a fair y whispered in his car that he 
himself might one day j a Copenhagen clock, 

bright and new, that would play its tunes decently 
and in order. " No, no," said Fritz to the fairy, 
"I had rather buy Father Buclolph's clock ; it \ 
such a funny old thing." " Very well," replied the 
fairy, "be diligent and saving, and perhaps I will 
one day bring Father Buclolph's clock to crow -and 
sputter to thee in the New World." 

But these golden dreams of the future received 
a sad check. One day, there was a* cry of " A man 
overboard!" It occasioned the more terror, because 
a shark had been following in the wake of the 
vessel for several days. Boats were lowered in- 
stantly ; but a crimson tinge on the surface of the 
water showed that their efforts were useless. It 
was not till some minutes after the confusion sub- 


sided, that Fritz perceived his Uncle Heinrich was 
missing. Terrible had been that crimson stain on 
the water ; but now, when he knew it was the 
life-blood of his last and only friend, it made him 
faint and dizzy, as if it were flowing from his own 

Uncle Heinrich's hard-earned savings were 
fastened within the belt he wore ; and a bundle of 
coarse clothes, with a few tools, were all that re- 
mained of his worldly possessions. The captain 
had compassion on the desolate child, and charged 
nothing for his passage, or his food. "When the 
vessel came within sight of port, the passengers, 
though most of them poor, raised a small fund for 
him by contribution. But who can describe the 
utter loneliness of the emigrant boy, when he 
parted from, his ship-companions, and wandered 
through the crowded streets of New York, without 
meeting a single face he had ever seen before? 
Lights shone in cheerful basements, where families 
supped together ; but his good-hearted mother, and 
his dear little blue-eyed Gretchen — where were 
they ? Oh, it was very sad to be so entirely alone, 
in such a wide, wide world I Sometimes he saw 
a boy turn round to stare at his queer little cap, 
and outlandish frock ; but he could not understand 
what he said, when he sung out, " There goes what 
they call a Flying Dutchman." Day after day he 
tried for work, but could obtain none. His funds 
were running very low, and his heart was ex- 


trcmely heavy. As he stood losing against a 
post, one day, a goat walked slowly towards him 
from a neighbor - ! urt How his heart leaped 

up to greet her ! With her came back images of 
the castle on the Rhine, the blooming terrace, his 
kind father, his blessed mother, and his darling 
little sister. He patted the goat's head, and kissed 
her, and looked deep into her eyes, as he had done 
with the companion of his boyhood. A stran 
came to lead the animal away; and when she was 
gone, poor Fritz sobbed as if his heart would break. 
" I have not even a goat for a friend now," thought 
he. " I wish I could get back to the old mill again. 
I am afraid I shall starve here in this foreign land, 
where there is nobody to bury me." 

In the midst of these gloomy cogitations, there 
was an alarm of fire ; and the watchmen sprung 
their rattles. Instantly a ray of hope darted 
through his soul! The sound reminded him of 
Father Rudolph's Blacking Box; for one of its 
tipsy tunes began with a flourish exactly like it. 
" I will save every cent I can, and buy materials 
to make blacking," thought he. "I will sleep 
under the planks on the wharves, and live on two 
pence a day. I can speak a few words of English. 
I will learn more from some of my countrymen, 
who have been here longer than I. Then, per- 
haps, I can sell blacking enough to buy bread and 

And thus he did. At first, it went very hard 


with him. Some days he earned nothing ; and a 
week of patient waiting brought but one shilling. 
But his broad face was so clean and honest, his 
manners so respectful, and his blacking so uncom- 
monly good, that his customers gradually increased. 
One day, a gentleman who traded with him made 
a mistake, and gave him a shilling instead of a ten- 
cent piece. Fritz did not observe it at the mo- 
ment; but the next day, when the gentleman 
passed to his counting-house, he followed him, and 
touched him on the arm. The merchant inquired 
what he wanted. Fritz showed the coin, saying, 
"Dat not mine." " Neither is it mine," rejoined 
the merchant ; " what do you show it to me for ?" 
The boy replied, in his imperfect English, " Dat too 
mooch." A friend, who was with the merchant,' 
addressed him in German ; and the poor emigrant's 
countenance lighted up, as if it had become suddenly 
transparent, and a lamp placed within it. Heaving 
a sigh, and blushing at his own emotion, he ex- 
plained, in his native tongue, that he had accidently 
taken too much for his blacking, the day before. 
They looked at him with right friendly glances, 
and inquired into his history. He told them his 
name and parentage, and how Uncle Heinrich had 
attempted to bring him to America, and had been 
devoured by a shark on the way. He said he had 
not a single friend in this foreign land, but he 
meant to be honest and industrious, and he hoped 

he should do well. The gentlemen assured him 


that tliey should always remember liim as Fritz 
Shilling, and that they would certainly speak of 
him to their friends. He did not understand the 
joke of his name, but he did understand that they 
bought all his blacking, and that customers in- 
creased more rapidly after that interview. 

It would be tedious to follow the emigrant 
through all the process of his gradually-improving 
fortune. As soon as he could spare anything 
from necessary food and clothing, he went to an 
evening school, where he learned to read, write, 
and cipher. lie became first a shop-boy, then a 
clerk, and finally established a neat grocery-store 
for himself. Through all these changes, he con- 
tinued to sell the blacking, which arrived at the 
honour of poetical advertisements in the newspapers, 
under the name of Schclling's Best Boot Polisher. 

But the prosperity thus produced was not the 
only result of his acquaintance with Father Ru- 
dolph. The dropped stitches of our life are some- 
times taken up again strangely, through many in 
lervening loops. One day, as Fritz was pas- 
through the streets, when he was about sixteen 
3'ears old, he stopped and listened intently ; for he 
heard far off the sounds of a popular German bal- 
lad, which his grandmother and the peddler often 
used to sino; together. Through all the din and 

o o o 

rattle of the streets, he could plainly distinguish 
the monotonous minor cadence, which had often 
brought tears to his eyes when a boy. He fol- 


lowed the tones, and soon came in sight of an old 
man and his wife singing the familiar melody. A 
maiden, apparently somewhat younger than him- 
self, played a tamborin at intervals. When he 
spoke to her in German, her face kindled, as his 
own had done, at, the first sound of his native 
tongue in a strange land. " They call me Kos- 
chen," she replied; "these are my father and mo- 
ther. We came from the ship last night, and we 
sing for bread, till we can get work to do." The 
soul looked simply and kindly through her blue 
eyes, and reminded him of sister Gretchen. Her 
wooden shoes, short blue petticoat, and little crim- 
son jacket might seem vulgar to the fashionable, 
and picturesque to the artist; but to him it was 
merely the beloved costume of his native land. It 
warmed his heart with childish recollections ; and 
when they sang again the quaint, sad melody, he 
seemed to hear the old brook flow plaintively by, 
and see the farewell moonlight .on the mill. Thus 
began his acquaintance with the maiden, who was 
afterwards his wife, and the mother of his little 

Of these, and all other groups of emigrants, for 
many years, he inquired concerning his parents 
and his sister; but could obtain no tidings. At 
last, a priest in Germany, to whom he wrote, re- 
plied that Gretchen had died in childhood ; and 
that the father and mother had also recently died. 
It was a great disappointment to the affectionate 

92 BOY. 

i of Fritz Schelling; for through all 

turning I bis 
able home in th< World. But \\ 
I the mournful news, lie had Roschen 
to lo i her parents to care for, and a little 
that twined herself round his heart with fh 

At thirty-five, he was a happy and a prosp 

man. 3, that he could affoad to 

well in the city, and yet build for hi 

s country. " We can go out e^ 
Saturday and return on Monday," said he to B 
chen. '"A\ r e can hi \ tn, and our own 

t butter. It will do the child >od to roll 

on the ; and they shall have a goat to play 


"And, perhaps, by-and-by, we can go there to 
live all the time," rejoined Roschen. "It is so 
quiet and pleasant in the country ; and what's the 
use of berno: richer than enough?" 

The site chosen for the cottage overlooked the 
broad, bright river, where high palisades of rock 
seemed almost like the ruins of an old castle. 
Fritz said lie would make a flower-carpet on the 
rocks, for the goat to browse upon ; and if a stork 
would only come and build a nest on his thatched 
roof, he could almost fancy himself in Germany. 
At times, the idea of importing storks crossed his 
mind ; but his good sense immediately rejected the 


plan. It is difficult to imagine how those vener- 
able birds, with their love of the antique and the 
unchangeable, could possibly live in America. One 
might as well try to import loyal subjects, or an 
ancient nobility. 

When house and barn were completed, the first 
object was to secure honest, industrious Grerman 
tenants to till the soil. Fritz heard of a company 
of emigrants, who wished to sell themselves for a 
specified time, in order to pay their passage ; and 
he went on board the ship to see them. A hale 
man, who said he was about sixty years old, with 
a wife some five or six years younger, attracted his 
attention by their extreme cleanliness and good ex- 
pression of countenance. He soon agreed to pur- 
chase them ; and in order to prepare the necessary 
papers, he inquired their names. 

" Karl Schelling and Liesbet Schelling," replied 
the old man. 

Fritz started, and his face flushed, as he asked, 
" Did you ever live in the old castle at Eiide- 
sheim ?" 

"That we did for several summers," rejoined 

"Ah, can you tell us any thing of our son 
Fritz ?" exclaimed Liesbet, eyeing him eagerly. 
" God bless him wherever he is ! "We came to 
America to find him." 

" Mother 1 Mother I do you not know me ?" he 


said ; and threw himself into her open arms, and 
kissed the honest, weather-beaten face. 

"I sec it >ne well with you, my son. Now, 

thanks be to God, and blessed be His holy name'," 
said Karl, reverently nn covering his head. 

" And where is Gretchcn?" inquired Fritz, ear- 

"The All-Father took her home, to Ilimself, 
soon after you came to see us at Riidesheim," re- 
d Liesbet. " She was always mourning for the 
brother, poor little one ! It troubled us to go away 
and leave you behind us, without y farewell ; 

and I feared no blessing would follow it. But we 
were very poor, and we thought then we should 
come to you in two or three years." 

" Don't speak of that," said Fritz. " You were 
always good parents to me, and did the best you 
could. Blessings have followed me; and to meet 
you thus is the crowning blessing of all. Come, 
let us hasten home. I want to show you my good 
Eoschcn, and our Gretchen, and Karl, and Liesbet, 
and Piudolph, and baby Eoschen. My small farm 
overlooks a river broad and beautiful as the Ehine. 
The rocks look like castles, and I have bought a 
goat for the children to play with. The roof of our 
cottage is thatched, and if a stork would only come 
and build her nest there, then dear father and mo- 
ther might almost imagine themselves again at Eli- 
desheim, with plenty to eat, drink, and wear. If 
Father Eudolph's Blacking Box were only here," 


added he, laughing, I should have all but one of 
my boyish dreams fulfilled. " Ah, if dear Gretchen 
were only here !" 

The fairy who whispered to Fritz when he was 
crossing the Atlantic, told him if be were diligent 
and saving, she would perhaps bring him the old 
clock ; and she kept her promise better than fairies 
sometimes do ; for it chanced that the heir of Fa- 
ther Rudolph, came to America, and brought it with 
him. The price Fritz offered for it was too tempt- 
ing, and it now stands in his thatched cottage. Its 
carved black case, inlaid with grotesque figures of 
birds and beasts in pearl, is more wonderful than a 
picture-book to the children. When any of them 
are out of health, or out of humour, their father 
sets the old bewildered tunes agoing, and they soon 
join in a merry mocking chorus, with "Cluck, 
cluck, cluck ! Whirr, whirr, whirr I Rik a rik a 
ree I" 

Note.— The accidental purchase of his parents by a German 
emigrant actually occurred a few years since; and this story 
was suggested by the fact. 



O friendly to the best pursuits of man ! 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life. Covter. 

At the bend of a pleasant road winding under the 
shade of a large elm, stood a small school-house. It 
was a humble building ; and the little belfry on the 
top seemed hardly large enough for the motions of 
the cow-bell suspended there. But it was a pictu- 
resque feature in the landscape. The elm drooped 
over it with uncommon gracefulness, and almost 
touched the belfry with its light foliage. The wea- 
ther-beaten, moss-grown shingles were a relief to 
the eye of the traveller, weary of prim staring 
white houses. Moreover, a human soul had in- 
scribed on the little place a pastoral poem in vines 
and flowers. A white Kose bush covered half one 
side, and carried its offering of blossoms up to the 
little bell. Cypress vines were trained to meet 
over the door, in a Gothic arch, surmounted by a 
cross. On the western side, the window was 
shaded with a profusion of Morning Glories ; and a 


great rock, that jutted out into the road, was thick- 
ly strewn with Iceland moss, which in the spring- 
time covered it with a carpet of yellow stars. 

It was at that season it was first seen by George 
Franklin, a young New York lawyer, on a visit to 
the country. He walked slowly past, gazing at 
the noble elm slightly waving its young foliage to 
a gentle breeze. Just then, out poured a flock of 
children, of various ages. Jumping and laughing, 
they joined hands and formed a circle round the 
elm. A clear voice was heard within the school- 
house, singing a lively tune, while measured strokes 
on some instrument of tin marked the time. The 
little band whirled round the tree, stepping to the 
music with the rude grace of childhood and joy. 
After ten or fifteen minutes of this healthy exer- 
cise, they stopped, apparently in obedience to some 
signal. Half of them held their hands aloft and 
formed arches for the other half to jump through. 
Then they described swift circles with their arms, 
and leaped high in the air. Having gone through 
their simple code of gymnastics, away they scam- 
pered, to seek pleasure after their own fashion, till 
summoned to their books again. Some of them 
bowed and .courtesied to the traveller, as they 
passed ; while others, with arms round each other's 
necks, went hopping along, first on one foot, then 
on the other, too busy to do more than nod and 
smile, as they went by. Many of them wore 
patched garments, but hands and faces were all 
9 g 


clean. Some Lad a stolid, animal look; but even 
these seemed to sun their cold nature in the ri 
of beauty and freedom, which they found only at 

school. The whole scene impressed the you 

j vividly, lie asked himself why it could not 
be always thus, in the family, in the school, every 
where? Why need man forever be a blot on I 
ture? Why must he be coarse and Bquali 
gross and heavy, whi is ever radiant with 

fresh beauty, and joy fid w; 

Then came saddening thoughts how oilier influ- 
ences of life, coarse pari b empL and 
the hard struggle for daily bread, would o\ 
ow the genial influences of that pleasant school, 
which for a few months gilded the lives of those 
little ones. 

When he repassed the spot, some hours after, all 
was still, save the occasional twittering of birds in 
the tree. It was sunset, and a bright farewell 
gleam shone across the moss-carpet on the rock, 
and made the little flowers hi the garden smile. 
When he returned to the city, the scene often rose 
before his mind as a lovely picture, and he longed 
for the artist's skill to re-produce it visibly in its 
rustic beauty. When he again visited the country 
after midsummer, he remembered the little old 
school-house, and one of his earliest excursions was 
a walk in that direction. A profusion of crimson 
Stars, and white stars, now peeped out from the 
fringed foliage of the Cypress vines, and the little 


front yard was one bed of blossoms. He leaned 
over the gate, and observed how neatly every plant 
was trained, as if some loving hand tended them 
carefully every day. He listened, but could hear 
no voices ; and curiosity impelled him to see how 
the little building looked within. He lifted the 
latch, peeped in, and saw that the room was empty. 
The rude benches and the white- washed walls were 
perfectly clean. The windows were open on both 
sides, and the air was redolent with the sweet 
breath of Mignonette. On the teacher's desk was 
a small Vase, of Grecian pattern, containing a few 
flowers tastefully arranged. Some books lay beside 
it, and one had an ivory folder between the leaves, 
as if recently used. It was Bettine's Letters to Giin- 
derode ; and, where it opened at the ivory folder, 
he read these lines, enclosed in pencil marks ; 
" All that I see done to children is unjust. Mag- 
nanimity, confidence, free-will, are not given to the 
nourishment of their souls. A slavish yoke is put 
upon them. The living impulse, full of buds, is 
not esteemed. No outlet will they give for Nature 
to reach the light. Eather must a net be woven, in 
which each mesh is a prejudice. Had not a child 
a world within, where could he take refuge from 
the deluge of folly that is poured over the budding 
meadow-carpet ? Eeverence have I before the des- 
tiny of each child, shut up in so sweet a bud. One 
feels reverence at touching a young bud, which the 
spring is swelling." 


The young man smiled with pleased surprise; 
for he had not expected to find appreciation of such 
timents in the teacher of a secluded country 
school. He took up a volume of Mary Hewitt's 
Birds and Flowers, and saw the name of Alice 
"White written in it. On all blank spaces were 
fastened delicate } r oung fern leaves, and small bits 
of richly-tinted moss. He glanced at the low ceil- 
. and the rude benches. "This seems not the 
•ropriate temple for such a spirit," thought he. 
"But, all, what consequence is that, since 

such spirits find temples everywhere ?" lie took 
a pencil from his pocket, and marked in Bettine's 
Letters : " Thou hast feeling for the every -day life 
of nature. Dawn, noon-tide, and evening clouds 
are thy dear companions, with whom thou canst 
converse when no man is abroad with thee. Let 
me be thy scholar in simplicity." 

He wrote his initials on the page. "Perhaps I 
shall never see this young teacher, " thought he ; 
" but it will be a little mystery, in her unexciting 
life, to conjecture what curious eye has been peep- 
ing into her books." Then he queried with him- 
self, " How do I know she is a young teacher ?" 

He stood leaning against the window, looking 
on the beds of flowers, and the vine leaves brushed 
his hair, as the breeze played with them. They 
seemed to say that a young heart planted them. 
He remembered the clear, feminine voice he had 
heard humming the dancing-tune, in the spring- 


time. He thought of the mosses and ferns in the 
book. " Oh, yes, she must be young and beauti- 
ful," thought he. " She cannot be otherwise than 
beautiful, with such tastes." He stood for some 
moments in half dreaming reverie. Then a broad 
smile went over his face. He was making fun of 
himself. " What consequence is it to me whether 
she be either beautiful or young?" said he in- 
wardly. " I must be hungry for an adventure, to 
indulge so much curiosity about a country school- 

The smile was still on his face, when he heard a 
light step, and Alice White stood before him. She 
blushed to see a stranger in her little sanctuary, 
and he blushed at the awkwardness of his situ- 
ation. He apologized, by saying that the beauty 
of the little garden, and the tasteful arrangement 
of the vines, had attracted his attention, and, per- 
ceiving that the school- house was empty, he had 
taken the liberty to enter. She readily forgave the 
intrusion, and said she was glad if the humble little 
spot refreshed the eyes of those who passed by, for 
it had given her great pleasure to cultivate it. The 
young man was disappointed ; for she was not at all 
like the picture his imagination had painted. But 
the tones of her voice were flexible, and there was 
something pleasing in her quiet but timid manner. 
Not knowing what to say, he bowed and took 

Several days after, when his rural visit was 


dm wing to a close, he felt the need of a long walk, 
and a pleasant vision of the winding road and the 
little school-house rose before him.* lie did not 
even think of Alice White. He was ambitious, 
and had well nigh resolved never to marry, except 
to advance his fortunes. He admitted to himself 
that grace and beauty might easily bewitch him, 
and turn him from his prudent purpose. But the 
poor country teacher was not beautiful, cither in 
face or figure. He had no thought of her. But to 
vary his route somewhat, he passed through the 
woods, and there he found her gathering mo 
by a little brook. She recognized him, and he 
stopped to help her gather mosses. Thus it 
happened that they fell into discourse together; 
and the more he listened, the more he was sur- 
prised to find so rare a jewel in so plain a setting. 
Her thoughts were so fresh, and were so simply 
said ! And now he noticed a deep expression in 
her eye, imparting a more elevated beauty than is 
ever derived from form or colour. He could hot 
define it to himself, still less to others ; but she 
charmed him. He lingered by her side, and when 
they parted at the school-house gate, he was half 
in hopes she would invite him to enter. " I expect 
to visit this town again in the autumn," he said. 
"May I hope to find you at the little school- 
house ?" 

She did not say whether he might hope to find 
her there; but she answered with a smile, "I am 


always here. I have adopted it for my home, and 
tried to make it a pleasant one, since I have no 

All the way home his thoughts were occupied 
with her ; and the memory of her simple, pleasant 
ways, often recurred to him amid the noises of the 
city. He would easily have forgotten her in that 
stage of their acquaintance, had any beautiful heir- 
ess happened to cross his path; for though his 
nature was kindly, and had a touch of romance, 
ambition was the predominant trait in his charac- 
ter. But it chanced that no woman attracted him 
very powerfully, before he again found himself on 
the" winding road where stood the picturesque little 
school-house. Then came frequent walks and con : 
ndential interviews, which revealed more loveliness 
of mind and character than he had previously sup- 
posed. Alice was one of those peculiar persons 
whose history sets at naught all theories. Her 
parents had been illiterate, and coarse in manners, 
but she was gentle and refined. They were utterly 
devoid of imagination, and she saw every thing 
in the sunshine of poetry. "Who is the child 
like? Where did she get her queer notions?" 
were questions they could never answer. They 
died when she was fourteen ; and she, unaided and 
unadvised, went into a factory to earn money to 
educate herself. Alternately at the factory and at 
school, she passed four years. Thanks to her 
notable mother, she was quick and skilful with her 


needle, and knew wonderfully well how to make 

the most of small means. She travelled along un- 

ioed through the by of life, rejoicing in 

birds, and flowers, and little children, and finding 

sufficient stimulus to constant industry in the love 
of serving others, and the prospect of now and then 
a pretty vase, or some agreeable book. First, af- 
fectionate communion, then beauty and order, v, 
the great attractions to her soul. Hence, she 
longed inexpressibly for a home, and was al^ 
striving to realize her ideal in such humble imita- 
tions as the little school-house. The family wh 
she boarded often disputed with each other, and, 
being of rude natures, not all Alice's unassuming 
and obliging ways could quite atone to them for 
native super: In the solitude of the little 

school-house she sought refuge from things that 
wounded her. There she spei of the hours 

of her life, and found peace on the bosom of 
Nature. Poor, and without personal beauty, she 
never dreamed that domestic love, at all resembling 
the pattern in her own mind, was a blessing she 
could ever realize. Scarcely had the surface of 
her heart been tremulous with even a passing ex- 
citement on the subject, till the day she gathered 
mosses in the wood with George Franklin. When 
he looked into her eyes, to ascertain what their 
depth expressed, she was troubled by the earnest- 
ness of his glance. Habitually humble, she did not 
venture to indulge the idea that she could ever be 


beloved by him. But when she thought of his 
promised visit in autumn, fair visions sometimes 
floated before her, of how pleasant life would be in 
a tasteful little home, with an intelligent com- 
panion. Always it was a little home. None of 
her ideas partook of grandeur. She was a pastoral 
poet, not an epic poet. 

George did come, and they had many pleasant 
walks in beautiful October, and crowned each other 
with garlands of bright autumnal leaves. Their 
parting betrayed mutual affection ; and soon after 
George' wrote to her thus : "I frankly acknowledge 
to you that I am ambitious, and had fully resolved 
never to marry a poor girl. But I love you so well, 
I have no choice left. And now, in the beautiful 
light that dawns upon me, I see how mean and 
selfish was that resolution, and how impolitic withal. 
For is it not happiness we all seek ? And how happy 
it will make me to fulfil your long-cherished dream 
of a tasteful home ! I cannot help receiving from 
you more than I can give; for your nature is richer 
than mine. But I believe, dearest, it is .always 
more blessed to give than to receive; and when 
two think so of each other, what more need of 
heaven ? 

" I am no flatterer, and I tell you frankly I was 
disappointed when I first saw you. Unconsciously 
to myself, I had fallen in love with your soul. The 
transcript of it, which I saw in the vines and the 
flowers attracted me first ; then a revelation of it 


from the marked book, the mosses and the ferns. 
I imagined you must be beautiful ; and when I saw 
}^ou were not, I did not suppose I should ever think 
of you more. But when I heard you talk, your 
soul attracted me irresistibly again, and I wondered 
1 ever thought you otherwise than beautiful. Barely 
is a beautiful soul shrined within a beautiful body. 
But loveliness of soul has one great advantage over 
its frail envelope, it need not decrease with time, 
but ought rather to increase. 

" Of one thing rest assured, dear Alice ; it is now 
impossible for me ever to love another, as I love 

When she read this letter, it seemed to her as if 
she were in a delightful dream. Was it indeed pos- 
sible that the love of an intelligent, cultivated soul 
was offered to her, the poor unfriended one ? How 
marvellous it seemed, that when she was least ex- 
pecting such a blossom from Paradise, a stranger 
came and laid it in the open book upon her desk, 
in that little school-house, where she had toiled with 
patient humihty through so many weary hours! 
She kissed the dear letter again and again; she 
kissed the initials he had written in the book before 
he had seen her. She knelt down, and, weeping, 
thanked God that the great hunger of her heart for 
a happy home was now to be satisfied. But when 
she re-read the letter in calmer mood, the upright- 
ness of her nature made her shrink from the prof- 
fered bliss. He said he was ambitious. Would he 


not repent marrying a poor girl, without beauty, 
and without social influence of any kind? Might 
he not find her soul far less lovely than he deemed 
it ? Under the influence of these fears, she answered 
him: "How happy your precious letter made me, 
I dare not say. My heart is like a garden when 
the morning sun shines on it, after a long, cold 
storm. Ever since the day we gathered mosses in 
the wood, you have seemed so like the fairest dreams 
of my life, that I could not help loving you, though 
I had no hope of being beloved in return. Even 
now, I fear that you are acting under a temporary 
delusion, and that hereafter you may repent your 
choice. Wait long, and observe my faults. I will 
try not to conceal any of them from you. Seek the 
society of other women. You will find so many 
superior to me, in all respects ! Do not fear to give 
me pain by any change in your feelings. I love 
you with that disinterested love, which would re- 
joice in your best happiness, though it should lead 
you away from me." 

This letter did not lower his estimate of the beauty 
of her soul. He complied with her request to cul- 
tivate the acquaintance of other women. He saw 
many more beautiful, more graceful, more accom- 
plished, and of higher intellectual cultivation ; but 
none of them seemed so charmingly simple and 
true, as Alice White. "Do not talk to me any 
more about a change in my feelings," he said, " I 
like your principles, I like your disposition, I like 


your thoughts, I like your ways; and I always 
shall like them." Thus assured, Alice jo} T fully dis- 
missed her fears, and became his wife. 

Eich beyond comparison is a man who is loved 
by an intelligent woman, so full of home-affections I 
Especially if she has learned humility, and gained 
Strength, in the school of hardship and privation. 
But it is only beautiful souls who learn such lessons 
in adversity. In lower natures it engenders dis- 
content and envy, which change to pride and < x- 
travagance in the hour of prosperity. Alice had 
always been made happy by the simplest means ; 
and now, though her husband's income was a mod- 
erate one, her intuitive taste and capable fingers 
made his home a little bower of beauty. She 
seemed happy as a bird in her cozy nest; and 
so grateful, that George said, half in jest, half in 
earnest, he believed women loved their husbands as 
the only means society left them of procuring homes 
over which to preside. There was some truth in 
the remark ; but it pained her sensitive and affec- 
tionate nature, because it intruded upon her the 
idea of selfishness mingled with her love. Thence- 
forth, she said less about the external blessings of a 
home ; but in her inmost soul she enjoyed it, like 
an earthly heaven. And George seemed to enjoy 
it almost as much as herself. Again and again, he 
said he had never dreamed domestic companion 
was so rich a blessing. His wife, though- far less 
educated than himself, had a nature capable of the 


highest cultivation. She was always an intelligent 
listener, and her quick intuitions often understood 
far more than he had expressed or thought. Poor 
as she was, she had brought better furniture for his 
home, than mahogany chairs and marble tables. 

Smoothly glided a year away, when a little 
daughter came into the domestic circle, like a flower 
brought by angels. Greorge had often laughed at 
the credulous fondness of other parents, but he 
really thought his child was the most beautiful one 
he had ever seen. In the countenance and move- 
ments he discovered all manner of rare gifts. He 
was sure she had an eye for color, an eye for form, 
and an ear for music. She had her mother's deep 
eye, and would surely inherit her quick perceptions, 
her loving heart, and her earnestness of thought. 
His whole soul seemed bound up in her existence. 
Scarcely the mother herself was more devoted to 
all her infant wants and pleasures. Thus happy 
were they, with their simple treasures of love and 
thought, when, in evil hour, a disturbing influence 
crossed their threshold. It came in the form of 
political excitement ; that pestilence which is for- 
ever racing through our land, seeking whom it may 
devour; destroying happy homes, turning aside 
our intellectual strength from the calm and healthy 
pursuits of literature or science, blinding consciences, 
embittering hearts, rasping the tempers of men, and 
blighting half the talent of our country with its 
feverish breath. 


At that time, our citizens were much excited 
for and against the election of General Harrison. 
George Franklin threw himself into the melee with 
firm and honest conviction that the welfare of the 
country depended on his election. But the superior 
and inferior natures of man are forever mingling 
in all his thoughts and actions ; and this generous 
ardor for the nation's good gradually opened into a 
perspective of flattering prospects for himself. By 
the study and industry of years, he had laid a solid 
foundation in his profession, and every year brought 
some increase of income and influence. But he had 
the American impatience of slow growth. Dis- 
tinguished in some way he had always wished to 
be; and no avenue to the desired object seemed so 
short as the political race-course. A neighbour, 
whose temperament was peculiarly prone to these 
excitements, came in often and invited him to clubs 
and meetings. When Alice was seated at her 
work, with the hope of passing one of their old 
pleasant evenings, she had a nervous dread of hear- 
ing the door-bell, lest this man should enter. It 
was not that she expected, or wished, her husband 
to sacrifice ambition and enterprise, and views of 
patriotic duty, to her quiet habits. But the excite- 
ment seemed an unhealthy one. He lived in a 
species of mental intoxication. He talked louder 
than formerly, and doubled his fists in the vehe- 
mence of gesticulation. He was restless for news- 
papers, and watched the arrival of mails, as he 


would once have watched over the life of his child. 
All calm pleasures became tame and insipid. He 
was more and more away from home, and staid 
late in the night. Alice at first sat up to wait for 
him ; but finding that not conducive to the comfort 
of their child, she gradually formed the habit of 
retiring to rest before his return. She was always 
careful to leave a comfortable arrangement of the 
fire, with his slippers in a warm place, and some 
slight refreshment prettily laid out on the table. 
The first time he came home and saw these silent 
preparations, instead of the affectionate face that 
usually greeted him, it made liim very sad. The 
rustic school-house, with its small belfry, and its 
bright little garden-plat, rose up in the perspective 
of memory, and he retraced, one by one, all the in- 
cidents of their love. Fair and serene came those 
angels of life out of the paradise of the past. They 
smiled upon him and asked, " Are there any like 
us in the troubled path you have now chosen?" 
With these retrospections came some self-reproaches 
concerning little kind attentions forgotten, and pro- 
fessional duties neglected, under the influence of 
political excitement. He spoke to Alice with un- 
usual tenderness that night, and voluntarily prom- 
ised that when the election was fairly over, he 
would withdraw from active participation in politics. 
But this feeling soon passed away. The nearer the 
result of the election approached, the more intensely 
was his whole being absorbed in it. One morning, 


when he was reading the newspaper, little Alice 
fretted and cried. He said, impatiently, "I wish 
you would carry that child away. Her noise dis- 
turbs me." Tears came to the mother's eyes, as 
she answered, " She is not well ; poor little thing! 
She has taken cold." "I am sorry for that," he 
replied, and hurried to go out and exult with his 
neighbour concerning the political tidings. 

At night, the 'child was unusually peevish and 
restless. She toddled up to her father's knees, and 
cried for him to rock her to sleep. He had just 
taken her in his arms, and laid her little head upon 
his bosom, when the neighbour came for him to go 
to a political supper. He said the mails that night 
must bring news that would decide the question. 
The company would wait for their arrival, and 
then have a jubilee in honour of Harrison's suc- 
cess. The child cried and screamed, when George 
put her away into the mother's arms ; and he said 
sternly, "Naughty girl! Father don't love her 
when she cries." "She is not well," replied the 
mother, with a trembling voice, and hurried out 
of the room. 

It was two o'clock in the morning before George 
returned ; but late as it was, his wife was sitting 
by the fire. " Hurrah for the old coon !" he ex- 
claimed. "Harrison is elected." 

She threw herself on his bosom, and bursting 
into tears, sobbed out, "Oh, hush, hush, dear 
George I Our little Alice is dead!" Dead I and 


the last words lie had spoken to his darling had 
been unkind. What would he not have given to 
recall them now ? And his poor wife had passed 
through that agony, alone in the silent midnight, 
without aid or consolation from him. A terri- 
ble weight oppressed his heart. He sank into a 
chair, drew the dear sufferer to his bosom, and 
wept aloud. 

This great misfortune sadly dimmed the glory 
of his eagerly-anticipated political triumph. When 
the tumult of grief subsided, he reviewed the 
events of his life, and weighed them in a balance. 
More and more, he doubted whether it were wise 
to leave the slow certainties of his profession, 
for chances which had in them the excitement 
and the risks of gambling. More and more seri- 
ously he questioned whether the absorption of his 
faculties in the keen conflicts of the hour was the 
best way to serve the true interests of his country. 
It is uncertain how the balance would have turned, 
had he not received an appointment to office un- 
der the new government. Perhaps the sudden 
fall of the triumphal arch, occasioned by the death 
of General Harrison, might have given him a last- 
ing distaste for politics, as it did to many others. 
But the proffered income was more than double 
the sum he had ever received from his profession. 
Dazzled by the prospect, he did not sufficiently 
take into the account that it would necessarily 
10* h 


involve him in many additional i s, political 

and social, and that he might lose it by the very 
next turn of the wheel, without being able to re- 
turn easily to his old habits of expenditure. Once 
in office, the conviction that he was on the right 
side combined with gratitude and self-interest to 
make him serve his party with money and per- 
sonal influence. The question of another election 
I soon agitated, and these motives drove him 
into the new excitement. lie was kind at home, 
but he spent little time there. lie sometimes 
smiled when he came in late, and saw the warm 
9 by the fixe, and a vase of flowers crown- 
in-; his supper on the table; but he did not think 
how lonely Alice must be, nor could he possibly 
dream what she was suffering in the slow mar- 
tyrdoin of her heart. lie gave dinners and sup- 
Strangers went and came. They 
ate and drank, and smoked, and talked loud : 
Alice was polite and attentive ; but they had noth- 
ing for her, and she had nothing for them. IIow 
out of place would have been her little songs and 
her fragrant flowers, amid their clamor and tobac- 
co-smoke! She was a pastoral poet living in a 
perpetual battle. 

The house was filled with visitors to see the 
long Whig procession pass by, with richly-ca- 
parisoned horses, gay banners, flowery arches, 
and promises of protection to every thing. George 
bowed from his chariot and touched his hat to 


her, as lie passed with the throng, and »he waved 
her handkerchief. "How beautiful! How mag- 
nificent!" exclaimed a visitor, who stood by her. 
" Clay will certainly be elected. The whole city 
seems to be in the procession. Sailors, printers, 
firemen, every thing." 

" There are no women and children," replied 
Alice; and she turned away with a sigh. The 
only protection that interested her, was a protec- 
tion for homes. 

Soon after came the evening procession of Dem- 
ocrats. The army of horses ; temples of Liberty, 
with figures in women's dress to represent the 
goddess; raccoons hung, and guillotined, and 
swallowed by alligators; the lone star of Texas 
everywhere glimmering over their heads; the 
whole shadowy mass occasionally illuminated by 
the rush of fire- works, and the fitful glare of lurid 
torches; all this made a strange and wild impres- 
sion on the mind of Alice, whose nervous system 
had suffered in the painful internal conflicts of her 
life. It reminded her of the memorable 10th of 
August in Paris ; and she had visions of human 
heads reared on poles before the windows, as they 
had been before the palace of the unfortunate 
Maria Antoinette. Visitors observed their watches, 
and said it took this procession an hour longer to 
pass than it had for the Whig procession. "I 
guess Polk will beat after all," said one. George 
was angry and combated the opinion vehemently. 


Even after the company had all gone, and the 
street noises had long passed off in fche distance, 
li" continued remarkably moody and irritable. He 
bad more cause for it than his wife was aware of. 
She supposed the worst that could happen, would 
be defeat of his part}- and loss of office. But an- 
tagonists, long accustomed to calculate political 
games with a view to gambling, had dared him to 
bet on the election, being perfectly aware of his 
sanguine temperament; and George, stimulated 
solely by a wish to prove to the crowd, who 
heard them, that he considered the success of 
Clay's party certain, allowed himself to be drawn 
into the snare, to a ruinous extent. All his world- 
ly possessions, even his watch, his books, and his 
household furniture, were at stake; and ulti- 
mately all were lost. Alice sympathized with his 
deep dejection, tried to forget her own sorrows, 
and said it would be easy for her to assist him, 
she was so accustomed to earn her own living. 

On their wedding day, George had given her a 
landscape of the rustic school-house, embowered 
in vines, and shaded by its graceful elm. He 
asked to have this reserved from the wreck, and 
stated the reason. No one had the heart to refuse 
it; for even amid the mad excitement of party 
triumph, everybody said, " I pity his poor wife." 

She left her cherished home before the final 
breaking up. It would have been too much for 
her womanly heart, to see those beloved house- 


hold goods carried away to the auction-room. She 
lingered long by the astral lamp, and the little 
round table, where she and George used to read 
to each other, in the first happy year of their 
marriage. She did not weep. It would have 
been well if she could. She took with her the 
little vase, that used to stand on the desk in the 
old country school-house, and a curious Wedge- 
wood pitcher George had given her on the day 
little Alice was born. She did not show them to 
him, it would make him so sad. He was tender 
and self-reproachful; and she tried to be very 
strong, that she might sustain him. But health 
had suffered in these storms, and her organization 
fitted her only for one mission in this world ; that 
was, to make and adorn a home. Through hard 
and lonely years she had longed for it. She had 
gained it, and thanked God with the joyfulness 
of a happy heart. And now her vocation was 

In a few days, hers was pronounced a case of 
melancholy insanity. She was placed in the hos- 
pital, where her husband strives to surround her 
with every thing to heal the wounded soul. But 
she does not know him. When he visits her, she 
looks at him with strange eyes, and still clinging 
to the fond ideal of her life, she repeats mourn- 
fully, "I want my home. Why don't George 
come and take me home V 



Thus left adrift on the dark ocean of life, George 
Franklin hesitated whether to trust the chances 
of politics for another office, or to start again in 
his profession, and slowly rebuild his shattered 
fortunes from the ruins of the past. Having 
wisely determined in favor of the latter, he works 
diligently and lives economically, cheered by the 
hope that reason will again dawn in the beautiful 
soul that loved him so truly. 

His case may seem like an extreme one ; but 
in truth he is only one of a thousand similar wrecks 
continually floating over the turbulent sea of Amer- 
ican politics. 



Thou delicate and fragrant thing ! 
Sweet prophet of the coming Spring ! 
To what can poetry compare 
Thy hidden beauty, fresh and fair % 

Only they who search can find 
Thy trailing garlands close enshrined ; 
Unveiling, like a lovely face, 
Surprising them with artless grace. 

Thou seemest like some sleeping babe, 
Upon a leafy pillow laid ; 
Dreaming, in thy unconscious rest, 
Of nest'ling on a mother's breast. 

Or like a maiden in life's May, 
Fresh dawning of her girlish day ; 
When the pure tint her cheeks disclose 
Seems a reflection of the rose. 

More coy than hidden love thou art, 
With blushing hopes about its heart; 
And thy faint breath of fragrance seems 
Like kisses stolen in our dreams. 


Thou'rt like a gentle poet's thought, 
By Nature's simplest lessons taught, 
Reclining on old moss-grown trees, 

Communing with the whisp'ring breeze. 

Like timid natures, that conceal 
What others carelessly reveal ; 
Reserving for a chosen few 
Their wealth of feeling, pure and true. 

Like loving hearts, that ne'er grow old, 
Through autumn's change, or winter's cold; 
Preserving some sweet flowers, that lie 

'Neath withered leaves of years gone by. 

At sight of thee a troop upsprings 
Of simple, pure, and lovely things; 
But half thou say est to my heart, 
I find no language to impart. 



For thee, the priestly rite and prayer 
And holy day, and solemn psalm ; 

For me, the silent reverence, where 
My brethren gather, slow and calm. 

J. Q. Whittier. 

It was one of Ireland's greenest lanes that wound 
its way down to a rippling brook, in the rear of 
Friend Goodman's house. And there, by a mound 
of rocks that dipped their mossy feet in the rivu- 
let, Friend Goodman walked slowly, watching 
for his little daughter, who had been spending the 
day with some children in the neighbourhood. 
Presently, the small maiden came jumping along, 
with her bonnet thrown back, and the edges of 
her soft brown ringlets luminous in the rays of the 
setting sun. Those pretty curls were not Qua- 
kerly; but Nature, who pays no more attention 
to the regulations of Elders, than she does to the 
edicts of Bishops, would have it so. At the 
slightest breath of moisture, the silky hair rolled 
itself into spirals, and clustered round her pure 
white forehead, as if it loved the nestling-place. 


Jumping, likewise, was not a Quakerly proceed- 
ing. But little Alice, usually staid and demure, 
in imitation of those around her, had met with a 
new companion, whose temperament was more 
mercurial than her own, and she was yielding to 
its magnetic influence. 

Camillo Campbell, a boy of six years, was the 
grandson of an Italian lady, who had married an 
Irish absentee, resident in Florence. Her de- 
scendants had lately come to Ireland, and taken 
possession of estates in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of Friend Goodman, where little Caniillo's 
foreign complexion, lively temperament, and grace- 
ful broken language, rendered him an object of 
very great interest, especially among the children. 
He it was with whom little Alice was skipping 
through the green lane, bright and free as the 
wind and sunshine that played among her curls. 
As the sober father watched their innocent gam- 
bols, he felt his own pulses quicken, and his mo- 
tions involuntarily became more rapid and elastic 
than usual. The little girl came nestling up to 
his side, and rubbed her head upon his arm, like 
a petted kitten. Camillo peeped roguishly from 
behind the mossy rocks, kissed his hand to her, 
and ran off, hopping first on one foot and then on 
the other. 

" Dost thou like that little boy ?" inquired Friend 
Goodman, as he stooped to kiss his darling. 

" Yes, Camillo's a pretty boy, I like him," she 


replied. Then with a skip and a bound, which 
showed that the electric fluid was still leaping in 
her veins, she added, " He's a funny boy, too : 
he swears you all the time." 

The simple child, being always accustomed to 
hear thee and thou, verily thought you was a pro- 
fane word. Her father did what was very un- 
usual with him : he laughed outright, as he replied, 
" "What a strange boy is that I" 

" He asked me to come down to the rock and 
play, to-morrow. May I go, after school?" she 

"We will see what mother says," he replied. 
" But where didst thou meet Camillo ?" 

"He came to play with us in the lane, and 
Deborah and John and I went into his garden to 
see the birds. Oh, he has got such pretty birds ! 
There's a nice little meeting-house in the garden ; 
and there's a woman standing there with a baby. 
Camillo calls her my donny. He says we mustn't 
play in there. Why not? Who is my donny?" 

"The people of Italy, where Camillo used to 
live, call the Mother of Christ Madonna," replied 
her father. 

" And who is Christ," she asked. 

" He was a holy man, who lived a great many 
years ago. I read to thee one day about his taking 
little children in his arms and blessing them." 

" I guess he loved little children almost as well 
•as thou, dear father," said Alice. " But what do 


they put his mother in that little meeting-house 

Not deeming it wise to puzzle her busy little 
brain with theological explanations, Friend Good- 
man called her attention to a small dog, whose 
curly white hair soon displaced the Madonna, and 
even Camillo, in her thoughts. But the new 
neighbour, and the conservatory peopled with birds, 
and the little chapel in the garden, made a strong 
impression on her mind. She was always talking 
of them, and in after years they remained by for 
the most vivid picture in the gallery of childish 
recollections. Nearly every day, she and Camillo 
met at the mossy rock, where they planted flowers 
in blossom, and buried flies in clover-leaves, and 
launched little boats on the stream. When they 
strolled toward the conservatory, the old gardener 
was always glad to admit thorn. Flowering shrubs 
and gaudy parrots, so bright in the warm sunshine, 
formed such a cheerful contrast to her own un- 
adorned home, that little Alice was never weary 
with gazing and wondering. But from all the 
brilliant things, she chose two Java sparrows for 
her especial favorites. The old gardener told her 
they were Quaker birds, because their feathers 
were all of such a soft, quiet color. Bright little 
Camillo caught up the idea, and said, " I know 
what for you so much do like them : Quaker lady- 
birds they be." 

" And she's a Quaker lady -bird, too," said the 


old gardener, smiling, as he patted her on the 
head; "she's a nice little lady-bird." Poll Parrot 
heard him, and repeated, "Lady -bird." Always 
after that, when Alice entered the conservatory, 
the parrot laughed and screamed, "Lady-bird!" 

Near the door were two niches partially con- 
cealed by a net- work of vines ; and in the niches 
were statues of two winged children. Alice in- 
quired who they were; and Gamillo replied, "My 
little sister and brother. Children of the Madonna 
now they is." His mother had told him this, and 
he did not understand what it meant ; neither did 
Alice. She looked up at the winged ones with 
timid love, and said, " Why don't they come down 
and play with us ?" 

" From heaven they cannot come down," an- 
swered Camillo. 

Alice was about to inquire the reason why, 
when the parrot interrupted her by calling out, 
"Lady-bird! Lady -bird!" and Camillo began to 
mock her. Then, laughing merrily, off they ran 
to the mossy rock to plant some flowers the gar- 
dener had given them. 

That night, while Alice was eating her supper, 
Friend Goodman chanced to read aloud something 
in which the word heaven occurred. " I've been 
to heaven," said Alice. 

" Hush, hush, my child," replied her father. 

"But I have been to heaven," she insisted. 
" Little children have wings there." 


Her parents exchang '1 glances of surprise, and 

the mother asked, "How r dost thou know that 
little children have wings in heaven?" 

"Because I saw them," she replied. "They 
wear white gowns, and they are the children of 
my donny. My donny lives in the little meeting- 
house in Camillo's garden. She's the mother of 
Christ that loved little children so much ; but she 
never said any thing to me. The birds call me 
lady-bird, in heaven." 

Iler mother looked very sober. " She gets her 
head full of strange things down there yonder," 
said she. "I tell thee, Joseph, I don't like to 
have the children playing together so much. 
There's no telling what may come of it." 

"Oh, they are mere babes," replied Joseph. 
"The my donny, as she calls it, and her doll, ana 
all the same to her. The children take a deal of 
comfort together, and it seems to me it is not 
worth while to put estrangement between them. 
Divisions come fast enough in the human family. 
When he is a lad, he will go awaj T to school and 
college, and will come back to live in a totally 
different world from ours. Let the little ones enjoy 
themselves while they can." 

Thus spake the large-hearted Friend Joseph; 
bnt Eachel was not so easily satisfied. "I don't 
like this talk about graven images," said she, " If 
the child's head gets full of such notions, it may 
not prove so easy to put them out." 


Truly, there seemed some ground for Rachel's 
fears; for whether Alice walked or slept, she 
seemed to live in the neighbour's garden. Sitting 
beside her mother in the silent Quaker meeting, 
she forgot the row of plain bonnets before her, 
and saw a vision of winged children through a 
veil of vines. At school, she heard the old green 
parrot scream, "Lady-bird!" and fan-tailed doves 
and Java sparrows hopped into her dreams. She 
had never heard a fairy story in her life ; other- 
wise, she would doubtless Lave imagined that 
Camillo was a prince, who lived in an enchanted 
palace, and had some powerful fairy for a friend. 

It came to pass as Joseph had predicted. These 
days of happy companionship soon passed away. 
Camillo went to a distant school, then to college, 
and then was absent awhile on the Continent. It 
naturally happened that the wealthy Catholic fam- 
ily had but little intercourse with the substantial 
Quaker farmer. Years passed without a word 
between Alice and her former playfellow. Once, 
during his college life, she met him and his father 
on horseback, as she was riding home from meet- 
ing, on a small gray mare her father had given 
her. He touched his hat and said, " How do you 
do, Miss Goodman?" and she replied, "How art 
thou, Camillo?" His father inquired, "Who is 
that young woman ?" and he answered, " She is 
the daughter of Farmer Goodman, with whom I 


used to play sometimes, when I was a little boy." 
Thus like shadows they passed on their separate 
ways. He thought no more of the rustic Quaker 
girl, and with her, the bright picture of their child- 
hood was like the remembrance of last } 7 ear's rain- 

But events now approached, which put all rain- 
bows and flowers to flight. A Rebellion broke 
out in Ireland, and a terrible civil war began to 
rage between Catholics under the name of Pike- 
men, and Protestants under the name of Orange- 
men. The Quakers being conscientiously opposed 
to war, could not adopt the emblems of either 
party, and were of course exposed to the hostility 
of both. Joseph Goodman, in common with others 
of his religious persuasion, had always professed to 
believe, that returning good for evil was a heavenly 
principle, and therefore safe policy. Alice had 
received this belief as a traditionary inheritance, 
without disputing it, or reflecting upon it. But 
now came times that tested faith severely. Every 
night, they retired to rest with the consciousness 
that their worldly possessions might be destroyed 
by fire and pillage before morning, and perhaps 
their lives sacrificed by infuriated soldiers. At the 
meeting-house, and by the way-side, earnest were 
the exhortations of the brethren to stand by their 
principles, and not flinch in this hour of trial. 
Joseph Goodman's sermon was brief and impressive. 
" The Gospel of Love has power to regenerate the 


world," said he ; " and the humblest individual, 
who lives according to it, has done something for 
the salvation of man." 

His strength was soon tried ; for the very next 
day a party of Pikemen came into the neighbour- 
hood and set fire to all the houses of the Orange- 
men. Groans, and shrieks, and the sharp sound of 
shots, were heard in every direction. Fierce men 
rushed into their peaceful dwelling, demanding 
food, and ordering them to give up their arms. 

" Food I will give, but arms I have none," re- 
plied Joseph. 

" More shame for you !" roared the commander 
of the troop. ° If you can't do any thing more for 
your country than that, you may as well be killed 
at once, for a coward, as you are." 

He drew his sword, but Joseph did not wink at 
the flash of the glittering blade. He looked him 
calmly in the eye, and said, " If thou art willing 
to take the crime of murder on thy conscience, I 
cannot help it. I would not willingly do harm to 
thee, or to any man." 

The soldier turned away abashed, and putting his 
sword into the scabbard, he muttered, " Well, give 
us something to eat, will you?" 

The hours that followed were frightful with the 
light of blazing houses, the crash of musketry, and 
the screams of women and children flying across 
the fields. Many took refuge in Joseph's house, 



and he did all he could to soothe and strengthen 

At sunset, he went forth with his serving-men to 
seek the wounded and the dead. Along the road 
and among the bushes, mangled bodies were lying 
in every direction. Those in whom life remained, 
they brought with all tenderness and consigned 
to the care of Rachel and Alice ; and, as long as 
they could see, they gathered the dead for burial. 
In the evening, the captain of the Pikemen returned 
in great wrath. " This is rather too much," he ex- 
claimed. " We did'nt spare your house this morn- 
ing to have it converted into a hospital for the 
damned Orangemen. Turn out every dog of 'em, 
or we will burn it down over your heads." 

" I cannot stay thy hand, if thou hast the heart 
to do it," mildly replied Joseph. "But I will not 
desert my fellow-creatures in their great distress. 
If the time should come when thy party is routed, 
we will bury thy dead, and nurse thy wounded, as 
we have done for the Orangemen. I will do good 
to all parties, and harm to none. Here I take my 
stand, and thou mayest kill me if thou wilt." 

Again the soldier was arrested by a power he 
knew not how to resist. Joseph seeing his embar- 
rassment, added : "I put the question to thee as a 
man of war : Is it manly to persecute women and 
children ? Is it brave to torture the wounded and 
the dying ? Wouldst thou feel easy to think of it 


in thy dying hour? Let us part in peace, and 
when thou hast need of a friend, come to me." 

After a brief hesitation, the soldier said, "It 
would be a happier world if all thought as you do." 
Then, calling to his men, he said, "Let us be off, 
boys. There's nothing to be done here." 

A fortnight after, triumphant Orangemen came 
with loud uproar to destroy the houses of the Cath- 
olics. It was scarcely day-break, when Alice 
was roused from uneasy slumbers by the discharge 
of musketry, and a lurid light on the walls of her 
room. Starting up, she beheld Colonel Campbell's 
house in a blaze. The beautiful statues of the Ma- 
donna and the winged children were knocked to 
pieces, and crushed under the feet of an angry mob. 
Vines and flowers crisped under the crackling 
flames, and the beautiful birds from foreign climes 
fell suffocated in the smoke, or flew forth, frightened, 
into woods and fields, and perished by cruel hands. 
In the green lane, once so peaceful and pleasant, 
ferocious men were scuffling and trampling, shoot- 
ing and stabbing. Everywhere the grass and the 
moss were dabbled with blood. Above all the din, 
were heard the shrill screams of women and chil- 
dren ; and the mother of Camillo came flying into 
Joseph's house, exclaiming, "Hide me, oh, hide 
me!" Alice received her in her arms, laid the 
throbbing head tenderly on her bosom, put back 
the hair that was falling in wild disorder over her 
face, and tried to calm her terror with gentle words. 


Others came pouring in, and no one was refused 
si i el lor. To the women of Colonel Campbell's 
household Alice relinquished her own little bed- 
room, the only corner of the house that was not 
already filled to overflowing. She drew the cur- 
tain, that the afflicted ones need not witness the 
bloody skirmishing in the fields and lane below. 
But a loud shriek soon recalled her to their side. 
Mary Campbell had withdrawn the curtain, and 
seen her husband fall, thrust at by a dozen swords. 
Fainting-fits and Irystcrics succeeded each other in 
quick succession, while Alice and her mother laid 
her on the bed, and rubbed her hands and bathed 
her temples. Gradually the sounds of war died 
away in the distance. Then Joseph and his helpers 
went forth to gather up the wounded and the dead. 
Colonel Campbell was found utterly lifeless, and 
the brook where Camillo used to launch, his little 
boats, was red with his father's blood. They 
brought him in tenderly, washed the ghastly 
wounds, closed the glaring eyes, and left the widow 
and the household to mourn over him. Late in the 
night they persuaded her to go to rest ; and, when 
all was still, the weary family fell asleep on the 
floor ; for not a bed was unoccupied. 

This time, they hoped to escape the conquerors' 
rage. But early in the morning, a party of them 
came back, and demanded that all the Catholics 
should be given up to them. Joseph replied, as he 
had done before: "I cannot give up my helpless 


and dying neighbours, whether they be Pikemen or 
Orangemen. I will do good to all, and harm to 
none, come to me what may." 

" That's impartial, anyhow," said the captain. He 
took some Orange * cockades from his pocket, and 
added, " Wear these, and my men will do you no 

"I cannot conscientiously wear one," replied 
Joseph, "because they are emblems of war." 

The captain laughed half scornfully, and hand- 
ing one to Alice, said, " Well, my good girl, you 
can wear one, and then you need not be afraid of 
our soldiers." 

She looked very pleasantly in his face and an- 
swered, " I should be afraid if I did not trust in 
something better than a cockade." 

The leader of the Orangemen was arrested by 
the same spell that stopped the leader of the Pike- 
men. But some of his followers, who had been 
lingering about the door, called out, " What's the 
use of parleying? Isn't the old traitor nursing 
Catholics, to fight us again when they get well ? If 
he won't serve the government by fighting for us, 
he will at least do to stop a bullet as well as a 
braver man. Bring him out, and put him in the 
front ranks to be shot at!" One of them seized 
Joseph to drag him away ; but Alice laid a trem- 
bling hand on his arm, and said, beseechingly, 
" Before you take him, come and see the wounded 
Orangemen, with their wives and children, whom 


my father and mother have fed and tended night 
and day." A pale figure, with bandaged head and 
one arm in a sling, came forth from an adjoining 
room and said, "Comrades, you surely will not 
harm these worthy people. They have fed our 
children, and buried our dead, as if we were their 
own brothers." The soldiers listened, and, sud- 
denly changing their mood, went off shonting, 
" Hurrah for the Quakers !" 

Some days of comparative quiet followed. Col- 
onel Campbell was buried in his own garden, with 
as much deference to the wishes of his widow 
as circumstances would permit. She returned 
from the funeral calmer than she had been, and 
quietly assisted in taking care of the wounded. 
But when she retired to her little room, and saw 
a crucifix fastened on the wall at the foot of her 
bed, she burst into tears and said, " Who has done 
this ?" 

Alice gently replied, " I did it. I found it in the 
mud, where the little chapel used to stand. I know 
it is a sacred emblem to thee, and I thought it 
would pain thee to have it there ; so I have washed 
it carefully and placed it in thy room." 

The bereaved Catholic kissed the friendly hand 
that had done so kind a deed ; and tears fell on it, 
as she murmured, "Good child! may the Holy 
Virgin bless thee !" 

Balmy is a blessing from any human heart, whe- 
ther it be given in the name of Jesus or Mary, God 


or Allah. Alice slept well, and guardian angels 
rejoiced over her in heaven. 

X -55- -X- -X-**-* -5f * 

Success alternated between the contending par- 
ties, and kept the country in a state of perpetual 
alarm. One week, the widow of Colonel Camp- 
bell was surrounded by victorious friends, and the 
next week, she was in terror for her life. At last, 
Camillo himself came with a band of successful 
insurgents. During a brief and agitated interview 
with his mother, he learned how kindly she had 
been sheltered in their neighbour's house, and how 
tenderly the remains of his father * d been treated. 
When she pointed to the crucifix on the wall, and 
told its history, his eyes filled with tears. " Oh, 
why cannot we of different faith always treat each 
other thus?" was his inward thought; but he 
bowed his head in silence. Hearing, loud voices, 
he started up suddenly, exclaiming, " There may 
be danger below !" Following the noise, he found 
soldiers threatening Friend Goodman, who stood 
with his back firmly placed against the door of an 
inner room. Seeing Camillo enter, and being 
aware of the great influence his family had with 
the Catholics, he said, " These men insist upon car- 
rying out the dying Orangemen who are sheltered 
here, and compelling me . to see them shot. Is it 
thy will that these murders should be committed ?" 

The young man took his hand, and in tones of 
deep respect answered, " Could you believe that I 


would suffer violence to be done to any under your 
roof, if I had power to prevent it?" Then turning 
to his soldiers, he said, "These excellent people 
have injured no one. Through all these troubled 
times, they have been kind alike to Pikemen and 
Orangemen ; they have buried our dead, and shel- 
tered our widows. If you have any respect for the 
memory of my father, treat with respect all who 
wear the peaceful garb of the Quakers." The men 
spoke apart for awhile, and soon after left the 

As Camillo passed by the kitchen door, he saw 
Alice distributing boiled potatoes to a crowd of 
hungry children. A soldier stood by her, insisting 
that she should wear a cross, which was the emblem 
of the Pikemen. She mildly replied, " I cannot 
consent to wear the cross, but I hope God will 
enable 'me to bear it." The rude fellow, who was 
somewhat intoxicated, touched her under the chin, 
and said, " Come, mavourneen, do be a little more 
obliging." Camillo instantly seized his arm, and, 
exclaiming, "Behave decently, my lad! behave 
decently !" he led him to the door. As he went, 
he turned towards Alice with an expression she 
never forgot, and said, in a low deep tone, " Words 
are poor to thank you for what you have done for 
my mother." 

The next day, when he met Alice walking to 
meeting, he touched his hat respectfully and said, 
" I scarcely deem it prudent for you to be in the 


roads at this time, Miss Alice. Armed insurgents 
are everywhere abroad ; and though there is a pre- 
vailing disposition not to injure the Quakers, still 
many of our men are too desperate to be always 

She smiled and answered, " I thank thee for thy 
friendly caution ; but I trust in the Power that has 
hitherto protected me." 

After a short pause, he said, " Your place of meet- 
ing is two miles from here. Where is the horse 
you used to ride ?" 

" A soldier took it from me, as I rode from meet- 
ing several weeks ago," she replied. 

"You see then it is, as- 1 have said, unsafe for 
you to go," he rejoined. " Had you not better turn 

With great earnestness she answered, "Friend 
Camillo, I cannot otherwise than go. Our people 
are afflicted and bowed down. The soldiers have 
nearly consumed our provisions. Our women are 
almost worn out with the fatigue of constant nurs- 
ing and perpetual alarms. All are not unwavering 
in their faith. It is the duty of the strong to sus- 
tain the weak ; and therefore it is needful that we 
meet together for counsel and consolation." 

The young man looked at her with affectionate 
reverence. The fair complexion and shining ring- 
lets of childhood were gone, but a serene and deep 
expression of soul imparted a more elevated beauty 
to her countenance. He parted from her with a 


blessing, simply and fervently uttered ; but he en- 
tered the adjoining fields, and as he walked along 
he kept her within sight until she arrived safely at 
the place of meeting. While he thus watched her 
unseen, he recollected how often his taste had been 
offended by the quaint awkwardness of the Quaker 
garb ; and uttering aloud the sequel to his thoughts, 
he said, " But beautiful and graceful will her gar- 
ments be in heaven." 

Soon after this interview, he departed with a 
strong escort to convey his mother and other Cath- 
olic women into a less turbulent district. Alice 
bade them farewell with undisguised sadness ; for 
we learn to love those whom we serve, and there 
seemed little probability that they would ever re- 
turn to reside in that troubled neighborhood. 

The next time she saw Camillo, he was brought 
into her father's house on a litter, senseless, and 
wounded, as it was supposed, unto death. All the 
restoratives they could think of were applied, and 
at last, as Alice bent over him, bathing his temples, 
he opened his eyes with a dull unconscious stare, 
which gradually relaxed into a feeble smile, as he 
whispered, " My Quaker lady-bird." Some hours 
afterward, when she brought him drink, he gently 
pressed her hand, and said, "Thank you, dear 
Alice." The words were simple, but the expres- 
sion of his eyes and the pressure of his hand sent 
a thrill through the maiden, which she had never 
before experienced. That night, she dreamed of 


winged children seen through flowering vines, and 
Camillo laughed when the parrot called her " Lady- 

Sorrow, like love, levels all distinctions, and melts 
all forms in its fiery furnace. In the midst of sick- 
ness and suffering, and every-day familiarity with 
death, there was small attention paid to customary 
proprieties. No one heeded whether Camillo were 
tended by Alice or her mother ; but if Alice were 
long absent, he complained that she came so sel- 
dom. As his health improved, they talked togeth- 
er of the flowers they used to plant on the mossy 
rock, and the little boats thev launched on the 
rippling brook. Sometimes, in their merriest 
moods, they mocked the laughing of the old green 
parrot, and the cooing of the fan-tailed doves. 
Thus walking through the green lanes of their 
childhood, they came unconsciously into the fairy- 
land of love ! All was bright and golden there, 
and but one shadow rested on the sunshine. When 
Camillo spoke of the " little meeting-house in the 
garden," and the image of " My donny," she grew 
very thoughtful ; and he said with a sigh, " I wish, 
dear Alice, that we were of one religion." She 
smiled sweetly as she answered ? " Are we not both 
of the religion of Jesus?" 

He kissed her hand, and said, " Your soul is al- 
ways large and liberal, and noble and land ; but 
others are not like you, dear Alice." 

And truly, when the war had ceased, and Camillo 


Campbell began to rebuild his demolished dwel- 
ling, and the young couple spoke of marj reat 
was the consternation in both families. Even the 
liberal-minded Joseph was deeply-pained to have 
his daughter 4( marry out of Society," as their 
phrase is; but he strove to console Rachel, who 
was far more afflicted than himself. " The young 
people love each other," he said, " and it does not 
seem to be right to put any constraint on their af- 
fection. Camillo is a goodly youth ; and I think 
the dreadful scenes he has lately witnessed have 
exercised his mind powerfully on the subject of 
war. I have observed that he is thoughtful and 
candid ; and if he does but act up to his own light, 
it is all I ask of him. He promises never to inter- 
fere with the freedom of Alice; and as she has 
adopted most of our principles from her own con- 
viction, I do not fear she will ever depart from 

" Don't comfort thyself with any such idea," re- 
plied Rachel. " She will have pictures of the 
Virgin Mary in her house, and priests will come 
there to say over their mummery ; and small be- 
ginnings make great endings. At all events, one 
thing is certain. Alice will lose her membership 
in our Society ; and that it is which mainly grieves 
me. She is such a serious, sensible girl, that I al- 
ways hoped to see her an esteemed minister among 


"It is a disappointment to me also," replied 


Joseph ; " but we must bear it cheerfully. It cer- 
tainly is better to have our child go out of the So- 
ciety and keep her principles, than it would be to 
have her stay in Society and depart from her prin- 
ciples, as many do." 

Mary Campbell was more disturbed than Eachel 
Goodman. In the first paroxysm of her distress, 
she said she wished she had been killed in the war, 
rather than live to see her only son married to a 
black Protestant. 

"Not a black Protestant, dear mother, only a 
dove-colored one," rejoined Camillo, playfully, 
Then he kissed her, and reminded her of the story 
of the crucifix, and told her how noble and gentle, 
and good and, sensible, his Alice was.' As he 
talked, a vision rose before her of the little bed- 
room in the Quaker's farm-house ; she saw Eachel 
and Alice supporting the drooping-heads of poor 
homeless Catholics, while they offered drink to 
their feverish lips; and memory melted bigotry. 
She threw herself weeping into Camillo's arms and 
said, " Truly they did treat us like disciples of Jesus. 
I once said to Alice, ' May the Holy Virgin bless 
thee ;' and I now say, from my heart, May the Holy 
Virgin* bless you both, my son." 

And so Catholic and Quaker were married, ac- 
cording to the forms of both their churches. 

The Spciety of Friends mostly withdrew from 
companionship with Alice, though they greeted her 
kindly at their meetings. The Catholics shook their 


heads and complained that Camillo Campbell was 
already half a Quaker. Both prognosticated evil 
consequences from such a union. But the worst 
that happened was, Alice learned that there might 
be superstition in the cut of a garment, as well as 
in veneration for an image ; and Camillo became 
convinced that hatred and violence were much 
greater sins than eating meat on Fridays. 

Note. — The course here described as generally pursued by 
Quakers during the Irish Rebellion, and the effect stated to be 
produced on the soldiers of both parties, are strictly true. 


"I AM growing old; my sight is failing very 
fast," said a famous watch-maker of Geneva, as he 
wiped his spectacles to examine several chronome- 
ters, which his two apprentices laid before him. 
"Well done ! Yery well done, my lads," said he. 
"I hardly know which of you will best supply the 
place of old Antoine Breguet. Thirty years ago, 
(pardon an old man's vanity,) I could have borne 
away the palm from a hundred like ye. But my 
sight is dim, and my hands tremble. I must retire 
from the place I have occupied in this busy world ; 
and I confess I should like to give up my famous 
old stand to a worthy successor. Whichever of 
you produces the most perfect piece of mechanism 
before the end of two years shall be my partner 
and representative, if Eosabella and I both agree in 
the decision." 

The grand-daughter, who was busily spinning 
flax, looked up bashfully, and met the glance of the 
two young men. The countenance of one flushed, 
and his eye sparkled ; the other turned very pale, 
and there was a painfully deep intensity in his fixed 

The one who blushed was Florien Arnaud, a 


youth from the French Cantons. Tie was slender 
and graceful in figure, with beautiful features, clear 
blue eyes, and a complexion fresh as Ilylas, when 
the enamored water-nymphs carried him away in 
their arms. He danced like a zephyr, and sang 
little airy French romanzas in the sweetest of tenor 

The one who turned pale was Pierre Berthoud, 
of Geneva. lie had massy features, a bulky frarfte, 
and clumsy motions. But the shape of his head 
indicated powerful intellect, and his great dark i 
glowed from under the pent-house of his brows, Mice 
a forge at midnight. lie played on the bass-viol 
and the trombone, and when he sang, the tones 
sounded as if they came up from deep iron mines. 

Eosabella turned quickly away from their ex- 
pressive glances, and blushing deeply resumed her 
spinning. The Frenchman felt certain the blush 
was for him ; the Genevan thought he would wil- 
lingly give his life to be sure it was for Mm. But 
unlike as the young men were in person and char- 
acter, and both attracted toward the same lovely 
maiden, they were yet extremely friendly to each 
other, and usually found enjoyment in the harmon- 
ious contrast of their different gifts. The first feel- 
ing of estrangement that came between them was 
one evening, when Florien sang remarkably well, 
and Eosabella accompanied him on her guitar. She 
evidently enjoyed the graceful music with all her 
soul. Her countenance was more radiantly beauti- 


ful than usual, and when the fascinating singer rose 
to go, she begged him to sing another favorite song, 
and then another and another. " She never urges 
me to sing with her," said Pierre, as he and Florien 
retired for the night. " And with very good rea- 
son," replied his friend, laughing. " Your stento- 
rian tones would quite drown her weak sweet voice, 
and her light touch on the guitar. You might as 
well have a hammer-and-anvil accompaniment to a 
Canary bird." Seeing discontent in the counten- 
ance of his companion, he added soothingly, " Nay, 
my good friend, don't be offended by this playful 
comparison. Your voice is magnificently strong 
and beautifully correct, but it is made for grander 
things than those graceful little garlands of sound, 
which Eosabella and I weave so easily." 

Pierre sprang up quickly, and went to the other 
side of the room. " Eosabella and I," were sounds 
that went hissing through his heart, like a red-hot 
arrow. But his manly efforts soon conquered the 
jealous feeling, and he said cheerfully, "Well, Flo- 
rien, let us accept the offer of good Father Breguet. 
We will try our skill fairly and honorably, and 
leave him and Eosabella to decide, without know- 
ing which is your work and which is mine." 

Florien suppressed a rising smile ; for he thought 
to himself, " She will know my workmanship, as 
easily as she could distinguish my fairy romanzas 
from your Samson solos." But he replied, right 
cordially, "Honestly and truly, Pierre, I think we 
13 K 


are as mechanicians very nearly equal in skill. But 
let us both tax our ingenuity to invent something 
which will best please Rosabella Her birth-day 

in about six months. In honor of the occa- 
i, I will make some ornaments for the little arbor 
feeing the brook, where she loves to sit, in pleasant 
ther, and read to the good old grand J lit her. 
"I will do the same," answered Pierre; "only 
let both our ornaments be machines." They clasped 
hands, and looking frankly into each other's e; 
ratified the agreement. From that hour, they spoke 
no more to each other on the subject till the 1< 
anticipated day arrived. The old watch-maker and 
his grandchild were invited to the arbor, to } 
judgment on the productions of his pupils. A 
screen was placed before a portion of the brook, 
and they sat quietly waiting for it to be removed. 
" That duck is of a singular color," exclaimed the 
young girl. " What a solemn looking fellow he 
is !" The bird, without paying any attention to her 
remarks, waddled into the water, drank, lifted up 
his bill to the sky, as if giving thanks for his re- 
freshment, flapped his wings, floated to the edge 
of the brook, and waddled on the grass again. 
When Father Breguet threw some crumbs of cake 
on the ground, the duck picked them up with ap- 
parent satisfaction. He was about to scatter more 
crumbs, when Rosabella exclaimed, " Why, grand- 
father, this is not a duck ! It is made of bronze. 
See how well it is done." 


The old man took it up and examined it. " Keal- 
ly, I do not think any thing could be more perfect 
than this," he said. " How exquisitely the feathers 
are carved ! and truly the creature seems alive. He 
who beats this must be a skilful mechanician." 

At these words, Pierre and Florien stepped for- 
ward, hand in hand, and bowing to their master, 
removed the temporary screen. On a black marble 
pedestal in the brook was seated a bronze Naiad, 
leaning on an overflowing vase. The figure was 
inexpressibly graceful ; a silver star with brilliant 
points gleamed on her forehead, and in her hand 
she held a silver bell, beautifully inlaid with gold 
and steel. There was a smile about her mouth, 
and she leaned over, as if watching for something 
in a little cascade which flowed down a channel in 
the pedestal. Presently, she raised her hand and 
sounded the bell. A beautiful little gold fish 
obeyed the summons, and glided down the channel, 
his burnished sides glittering in the sun. Eleven 
times more she rang the bell, and each time the 
gold fish darted forth. It was exactly noon, and 
the water-nymph was a clock. 

The watch-maker and his daughter were silent. 
It was so beautiful, that they could not easily find 
words to express their pleasure. "You need not 
speak, my master," said Pierre, in a manly but sor- 
rowful tone ; " I myself decide in favor of Florien. 
The clock is his." 

" The interior workmanship is not yet examined," 


rejoined his amiable competitor. " There is not a 
better mechanician in all Switzerland, than Pierre 

" Ah, but you know how to invest equally good 
workmanship with grace and beauty," replied th<; 
more heavily moulded Genevan. 

" Study the Graces, my boy ; make yourself fa- 
miliar with models of beauty," said old Antoinc 
Breguet, laying a friendly hand upon the young 
man's shoulder. 

"I should but imitate, and he creates," answered 
Pierre, despondingly ; "and worst of all, my good 
master, I hate myself because I envy him." 

" But you have many and noble gifts, Pierre," 
said Eosabella, gently. " You know how delight- 
fully very different instruments combine in har- 
mony. Grandfather says your workmanship will 
be far more durable than Florien's. Perhaps you 
may both be his partners." 

" But which of us will be thine V thought Pierre. 
He smothered a deep sigh, and only answered, "I 
thank you, Eosabella." 

Well aware that these envious feelings were un- 
worthy of a noble soul, he contended with them 
bravely, and treated Florien even more cordially 
than usual. " I will follow our good master's ad- 
vice," said he; "I will try to clothe my good 
machinery in forms of beauty. Let us both make 
a watch for Eosabella, and present it to her on her 
next birth-day. You will rival me, no doubt \ for 


the Graces threw their garlands on you when you 
were born." " Bravo !" shouted Florien, laughing 
and clapping his hands. " The poetry is kindling 
up in your soul. I always told you that you would 
be a poet, if you could only express what was in 

" And your soul expresses itself so easily, so flu- 
ently!" said Pierre, with a sigh. 

" Because my springs lie so near the surface, and 
yours have depths to come from," replied his good- 
natured companion. 

"The worst of it is, the cord is apt to break 
before I can draw up my weighty treasures," re- 
joined Pierre, with a smile. "There is no help 
for it. There will always be the same difference 
between us, that there is in our names. I am a 
rock, and you are a flower. I might be hewed 
and chiselled into harmonious proportions ; but 
you grow into beauty." 

" Then be a rock, and a magnificent one," re- 
plied his friend, " and let the flower grow at your 

" That sounds modestly and well," answered 
Pierre ; "but I wish to be a flower, because " 

"Because what?" inquired Florien, though he 
half guessed the secret, from his embarrassed man- 

"Because I think Eosabella likes flowers better 
than rocks," replied Pierre, with uncommon quick- 
ness, as if the words gave him pain. 


On New Year's day, the offerings, enclosed in 
one box, were presented by the good grandfather. 
The first was a golden apple, which opened and 
revealed on one side an exquisitely neat watch, 
surrounded by a garland tastefully wrought in rich 
damaskeening of steel and gold; on the other side 
was a rose intertwined with forget-me-nots, very 
perfectly done in mosaic. When the stem of the 
apple was turned, a favourite little tune of Rosa- 
bella's sounded from .within. 

M This is surely Florien's," thought she ; and she 
looked for the other gift with less interest. It was 
an elegant little gold watch, with a Persian land- 
scape, a gazelle and birds of Paradise beautifully 
engraved on the back. When a spring was touched, 
the watch opened, a little circular plate of gold slid 
away, and up came a beautiful rose, round which a 
jewelled bee buzzed audibly. On the edge of the 
golden circle below were the words Rosa bella in 
ultramarine enamel. When another spring was 
touched, the rose went away, and the same melody 
that sounded from the heart of the golden apple 
seemed to be played by fairies on tinkling dew- 
drops. It paused a moment, and then struck up a 
lively dance. The circular plate again rolled away, 
and up sprung an inch-tall opera-dancer, with en- 
amelled scarf, and a very small diamond on her 
brow. Leaping and whirling on an almost invis- 
ible thread of gold, she kept perfect time to the 
music, and turned her scarf most gracefully. Rosa- 


bella drew a long breath, and a roseate tinge man- 
tled her beautiful face, as she met her grandfather's 
gaze fixed lovingly npon her. She thought to her- 
self, "There is no doubt now which is Florien's ;" 
but she said aloud, " They are both very beautiful ; 
are they not, dear grandfather ? I am not worthy 
that so much pains should be taken to please me." 
The old man smiled upon her, and fondly patted 
the luxuriant brown hair, which shone like threads 
of amber in the sun. " Which dost thou think most 
beautiful ?" said he. 

She evaded the question, by asking, " Which do 
you V 

"I will tell thee when thou hast decided," an- 
swered he. 

She twisted and untwisted the strings of her 
boddice, and. said she was afraid she should not be 
impartial. " Why not ?" he inquired. She looked 
down bashfully, and murmured, in a very low voice, 
" Because I can easily guess which is Florien's." 

" Ah, ha," exclaimed the kind old man ; and he 
playfully chucked her under the chin, as he added, 
" Then I suppose I shall offend thee when I give a 
verdict for the bee and the opera-dancer ?" 

She looked up blushing, and her large serious 
brown eyes had for a moment a comic expression, 
as she said, " I shall do the same." 

Never were disciples of the beautiful placed in cir- 
cumstances more favourable to the development of 
poetic souls. The cottage of Antoine Breguet was 


" In a glade, 
Where the sun harbours ; and one Bide of it 
Listens to bees, another to a brook. 
Lovers, that have just parted for the night, 
Dream of such spots when they have said their prayers ; 
Or some tired parent, holding by the hand 
A child, and walking toward the setting sun." 

In the stillness of the night, they conlcl hear the 
1 ' rushing of the arrowy Rhone." From a neighbour- 
ing eminence could be seen the transparent Lake 
of Geneva, reflecting the deep blue heaven above. 
Mountains, in all fantastic forms, enclosed them 
round ; now draped in heavy masses of sombre 
clouds, and now half revealed through sun-lighted 
vapour, like a veil of gold. The flowing silver of 
little waterfalls gleamed among the dark rocks. 
Grape-vines hung their rich festoons by the road- 
side, and the beautiful barberry bush embroidered 
their leaves with its scarlet clusters. They lived 
under the same roof with a guileless good old man, 
and with an innocent maiden, just merging into 
beautiful womanhood ; and more than all, they 
were both under the influence of that great inspirer, 

Rosabella was so uniformly kind to both, that 
Pierre could never relinquish the hope that con. 
stant devotedness might in time win her affections 
for himself. Florien, having a more cheerful char- 
acter, and more reliance on his own fascinations, 
was merely anxious that the lovely maiden should 


prefer his workmanship, as decidedly as she did his 
person and manners. Under this powerful stimu- 
lus, in addition to the ambition excited by the old 
watch-maker's proposal, the competition between 
them was active and incessant. But the ground- 
work of their characters was so good, that all little 
heart-burnings of envy or jealousy were quickly 
checked by the predominance of generous and 
kindly sentiments. 

One evening, Eosabella was reading to her grand- 
father a description of an albino squirrel. The pure 
white animal, with pink eyes and a feathery tail, 
pleased her fancy extremely, and she expressed a 
strong desire to see one. Pierre said nothing ; but 
not long after, as they sat eating grapes after din- 
ner, a white squirrel leaped on the table, frisked 
from shoulder to shoulder, and at last sat up with a 
grape in its paws. Eosabella uttered an exclama- 
tion of delight. " Is it alive ?" she said. " Do you 
not see that it is ?" rejoined Pierre. " Call the dog, 
and see what he thinks about it." 

" We have so many things here, which are alive 
and yet not alive," she replied, smiling. 

" Florien warmly praised the pretty automaton ; 
but he was somewhat vexed that he himself did 
not think of making the graceful little animal for 
which the maiden had expressed a wish. Her pet 
Canary had died the day before, and his eye hap- 
pened to rest on the empty cage hanging over the 
flower-stand. "I too will give her a pleasure," 


thought he. A few weeks after, as they sat at 
break last, sweet notes were heard from the cage, 
precisely the same the Canary used to sing ; and, 
looking up, the astonished maiden saw him hop- 
ping about, nibbling at the sugar and pecking his 
thers, as lively as ever. Florien smiled, and 
said, "Is it as much alive as Pierre's squirrel?" 

The approach of the next birth-day was watched 
with eager expectation; for even the old man be- 
gan to feel keen pleasure in the competition, as if he 
had witnessed a race between fleet horses. Pierre, 
excited by the maiden's declaration that she mis- 
took his golden apple for Florien's workmanship, 
produced a much more elegant specimen of art than 
he had ever before conceived. It was a barometer, 
supported by two knights in silver chain-armour, 
who went in when it rained, and came out when the 
sun shone. On the top of the barometer was a small 
silver basket, of exceedingly delicate workmanship, 
filled with such flowers as close in damp weather. 
When the knights retired, these flowers closed their 
enamelled petals, and when the knights returned, 
the flowers expanded. 

Florien produced a silver chariot, with two spir- 
ited and finely proportioned horses. A revolving 
circle in the wheels showed on what day of the 
month occurred each day of the week, throughout 
the year. Each month was surmounted by its zo- 
diacal sign, beautifully enamelled in green, crimson 
and gold. At ten o'clock the figure of a young girl, 


wearing Kosabella's usual costume, and resembling 
her in form and features, ascended slowly from be- 
hind the wheel, and at the same moment, the three 
Graces rose up in the chariot and held garlands 
over her. From the axle-tree emerged a young 
man, in Florien's dress, and kneeling offered a rose 
to the maiden. 

It was so beautiful as a whole, and so exquisitely 
finished in all its details, that Pierre clenched his 
fingers till the nails cut him, so hard did he try to 
conceal the bitterness of his disappointment at his 
own manifest inferiority. Could he have been an 
hour alone, all would have been well. But, as he 
stepped out on the piazza, followed by Florien, he 
saw him kiss his hand triumphantly to Eosabella, 
and she returned it with a modest but expressive 
glance. Unfortunately, he held in his hand a jew- 
elled dagger, of Turkish workmanship, which An- 
toine Breguet had asked him to return to its case 
in the workshop. Stung with disappointed love 
and ambition, the tempestuous feelings so painfully 
restrained burst forth like a whirlwhind. Quick as 
a flash of lightning, he made a thrust at his grace- 
ful rival. Then frightened at what he had done, 
and full of horror at thoughts of Kosabella's distress, 
he rushed into the road, and up the sides of the 
mountain, like a madman. 


A year passed, and no one heard tidings of him. 
On the anniversary of Kosabella's birth, the aged 


grandsire sat alone, sunning liis white locks at the 
open window, when Pierre Barthoud entered, pale 
and haggard. He was such a skeleton of his for- 
mer self that his master did not recognize him, till 
he knelt at his feet, and said, "Forgive me, father. 
I am Pierre." 

The poor old man shook violently, and covered 
his face with trembling hands. M Ah, thou wretched 
one," said he, " how darest thou come hither, with 
murder on thy soul ?" 

" Murder ?" exclaimed Pierre, in a voice so ter- 
ribly deep and distinct, that it seemed to freeze the 
feeble blood of him who listened. "Is he then 
dead? Did I kill the beautiful youth, whom I 
loved so much ?" He fell forward on the floor, and 
the groan that came from his strong chest was like 
an earthquake tearing up trees by the roots. 

Antoine Breguet was deeply moved, and the 
tears flowed fast over his furrowed face. "Rise, 
my son," said he, " and make thy escape, lest they 
come to arrest thee." 

" Let them come," replied Pierre, gloomily ; 
" Why should I live ?" Then raising his head 
from the floor, he said slowly, and with great fear, 
" Father, where is Rosabella ?" 

The old man covered his face, and sobbed out, 

" I shall never see her again ! These old eyes will 
never again look on her blessed face." Many min- 
utes they remained thus, and when he repeated, 
" I shall never see her again !" the young man 


clasped his feet convulsively, and groaned in ag- 

At last the housekeeper came in ; a woman whom 
Pierre had known and loved in boyhood. When 
her first surprise was over, she promised to conceal 
his arrival, and persuaded him to go to the garret 
and try to compose his too strongly excited feelings. 
In the course of the day she explained to him how 
Florien had died of his wound, and how Kosabella 
pined away in silent melancholy, often sitting at 
the spinning wheel with the suspended thread in 
her hand, as if unconscious where she was. During 
all that wretched night the young man could not 
close his eyes in sleep. Phantoms of the past flitted 
through his brain, and remorse gnawed at his heart- 
strings. In the deep stillness of midnight, he seemed 
to hear the voice of the bereaved old man sounding 
mournfully distinct, " I shall never see her again !" 
He prayed earnestly to die ; but suddenly an idea 
flashed into his mind, and revived his desire to 
live. Full of his new project, he rose early and 
sought his good old master. Sinking on his knees 
he exclaimed, " Oh, my father, say that you forgive 
me ! I implore you to give my guilty soul that one 
gleam of consolation. Believe me, I would sooner 
have died myself, than have killed him. But my 
passions were by nature so strong ! Oh, Grod for- 
give me, they were so strong ! How I have curbed 
them, He alone knows. Alas, that they should 
have burst the bounds in that one mad moment, 


and destroyed the two I best loved on earth. Oh, 
father, can yon say that yon forgive me ?" 

With quivering voice he replied, " I do forgive 
you, and bless yon, my poor son." He laid Lis 
hand affectionately on the thick matted hair, and 
added, " I too have need of forgiveness. I did 
very wrong thus to put two generous natures in 
rivalship with each other. A genuine love of 
beauty, for its own sake, is the only healthy stimu- 
lus to produce the beautiful. The spirit of compe- 
tition took you out of your sphere, and placed you 
in a false position. In grand conceptions, and in 
works of durability and strength, you would al- 
ways have excelled Florien, as much as he sur- 
passed you in tastefulness and elegance. By striv- 
ing to be what he was, you parted with your own 
gifts, without attaining to his. Every man in the 
natural sphere of his own talent, and all in har- 
mony ; this is the true order, my son ; and I 
tempted you to violate it. In my foolish pride, I 
earnestly desired to have a world-renowned suc- 
cessor to the famous Antoine Breguet. I wanted 
that the old stand should be kept up in all its glory, 
and continue to rival all competitors. I thought 
you could super-add Florien's gifts to your own, 
and yet retain your own characteristic excellencies. 
Therefore, I stimulated your intellect and imagin- 
ation to the utmost, without reflecting that your 
heart might break in the process. God forgive 
me ; it was too severe a trial for poor human 


nature. And do thou, my son, forgive this in- 
sane ambition; for severely has my pride been 

Pierre could not speak, but he covered the 
wrinkled hands with kisses, and clasped his knees 
convulsively. At last he said, "Let me remain 
concealed here for a while. You shall see her 
again; only give me time." "When he explained 
that he would make Eosabella's likeness, from 
memory, the sorrowing parent shook his head and 
sighed, as he answered, " Ah, my son, the soul in 
her eye, and the light grace of her motions, no art 
can restore." 

But to Pierre's excited imagination there was 
henceforth only one object in life ; and that was to 
re-produce Eosabella. In the keen conflict of 
competition, under the fiery stimulus of love and 
ambition, his strong impetuous soul had become 
machine-mad ; and now overwhelming grief cen- 
tered all his stormy energies on one object. Day 
by day, in the loneliness of his garret, he worked 
upon the image till he came to love it, almost as 
much as he had loved the maiden herself. Antoine 
Breguet readily supplied materials. From child- 
hood he had been interested in all forms of mech- 
anism ; and this image, so intertwined with his 
affections, took strong hold of his imagination also. 
Nearly a year had passed away, when the house- 
keeper, who was in the secret, came to ask for 
Eosabella's hair, and the dress she usually wore. 


The old man gave her the keys, and wiped the 
starting tears, as he turned silently away. A few 
days after, Pierre invited him to come and look 
upon his work. "Do not go too suddenly," he 
said; " prepare yourself for a shock; for indeed it 
is very like our lost one." 

"I will go, I will go," replied the old man, 
eagerly. " Am I not accustomed to see all man- 
ner of automata and androides ? Did I not myself 
make a flute-player, which performed sixteen tunes, 
to the admiration of all who heard him? And 
think you I am to be frightened by an image ?" 

"Not frightened, dear father," answered Pierre ; 
"but I was afraid you might be overcome with 
emotion." He led him into the apartment, and 
said, "Shall I remove the veil now? Can you 
bear it, dear father?" 

" I can," was the calm reply. But when the 
curtain was withdrawn, he started, and exclaimed, 
" Santa Maria ! It is Eosabella ! She is not dead F' 
He tottered forward, and kissed the cold lips and 
the cold hands, and tears rained on the bright 
brown hair, as he cried out, " My child ! my 

When the tumult of feeling had subsided, the 
aged mourner kissed Pierre's hands, and said, " It 
is wonderfully like her, in every feature and every 
tint. It seems as if it would move and breathe." 

"She will move and breathe," replied Pierre; 
"only give me time." 


His voice sounded so wildly, and his great deep- 
set eyes burned with such intense enthusiasm, that 
his friend was alarmed. They clasped each other's 
hands, and spoke more quietly of the beloved one. 
" This is all that remains to us, Pierre," said the 
old man. "We are alone in the world. You 
were a friendless orphan when you came to me : 
and I am childless." 

With a passionate outburst of grief, the young 
man replied, "And it was I, my benefactor, who 
made you so. Wretch that I am !" 

From that time the work went on with greater 
zeal than ever. Pierre often forgot to taste of 
food, so absorbed was he in the perfection of his 
machine. First, the arms moved obedient to his 
wishes, then the eyes turned, and the lips parted. 
Meanwhile, his own face grew thinner and paler, 
and his eyes glowed with a wilder fire. 

Finally, it was whispered in the village that 
Pierre Berthoud was concealed in Antoine Bre- 
guet's cottage : and officers came to arrest him. 
But the venerable old watch-maker told the story 
so touchingly, and painted so strongly the young 
man's consuming agony of grief and remorse, and 
pleaded so earnestly that he might be allowed to 
finish a wonderful image of his beautiful grand- 
child, that they promised not to disturb him till 
the work was accomplished. 

Two years from the day of Pierre's return, on 
the anniversary of the memorable birth- day, he 
14* l ' 


said. "Now, my father, I have done all that art 
can do. Come and see the beautiful one." He 
led him into the little room where Rosabella used 
to work. There she sat, spinning diligently. The 
beautifully formed bust rose and fell under her 
neat boddice. Iler lips were parted, and her eyes 
followed the direction of the thread. But what 
made it seem more fearfully like life, was the fact 
that ever and anon the wheel rested, and the maiden 
held the suspended thread, with her eye-lids low- 
ered, as if she were lost in thought. Above the 
flower-stand, near by, hung the bird-cage, with 
Florien's artificial canary. The pretty little autom- 
aton had been silent long; but now its springs 
were set in motion, and it poured forth all its mel- 

The bereaved old man pressed Pierre's hand, and 
gazed upon his darling grand-child silently. He 
caused his arm-chair to be brought into the room, 
and ever after, while he retained his faculties, he 
refused to sit elsewhere. 

The fame of this remarkable android soon spread 
through all the region round about. The citizens 
of Geneva united in an earnest petition that the 
artist might be excused from any penalty for the 
accidental murder he had committed. Members of 
the State Council came and looked at the breathing; 
maiden, and touched the beautiful flesh, which 
seemed as if it would yield to their pressure. They 
saw the wild haggard artist, with lines of suffering 


cut so deeply in his youthful brow, and they at 
once granted the prayer of the citizens. 

But Pierre had nothing more to live for. His 
work in the world was done. The artificial energy, 
supplied by one absorbing idea was gone ; and the 
contemplation of his own work was driving him to 
madness. It so closely resembled life that he longed 
more and more to have it live. The lustrous eyes 
moved, but they had no light from the soul, and 
they would not answer to his earnest gaze. The 
beautiful lips parted, but they never spoke kind 
words, as in days of yore. The image began to fill 
him with supernatural awe, yet he was continually 
drawn toward it by a magic influence. Three 
months after its completion, he was found at day- 
light, lying at its feet, stone dead. 

Antoine Breguet survived him two years. Dur- 
ing the first eighteen months, he was never willing 
to have the image of his lost darling out of sight. 
The latter part of the time, he often whistled to the 
bird, and talked to her, and seemed to imagine that 
she answered him. But with increasing imbecility, 
Eosabella was forgotten. He sometimes asked, 
44 Who is that young woman ?" At last he said, 
14 Send her away. She looks at me." 

The magic-lantern of departing memory then 
presented a phantom of his wife, dead long ago- 
He busied himself with making imaginary watches 
and rings for her, and held long conversations, as 
if she were present. Afterward, the wife was like- 


wise forgotten, and he was occupied entirely with 
bis mother, and the scenes of early childhood. 
Finally he Wept often, and repeated continually, 
"They are all waiting for me; and I want to go 
home." When he was little more than eighty years 
old, compassionate angels took the weary pilgrim 
in their arms, and carried him home. 

A SONG. 165 


Hush ! hush ! Love lies at rest, 
Like a bird in her nest, 
Like dew in a lily's breast, 

Love is sleeping. 
Eqses breathe fragrant sighs 
Over 'his drowsy eyes, 
But, ah, how still he lies ! 

Love is sleeping. 

Drive the honey-bees away ! 
Let not the sun's bright ray 
Over his features play ! 

Love is sleeping. 
Lest his slumbers should fly, 
Gentle Music draw nigh, 
With your sweet lullaby ! 

Keep him sleeping ! 

Ha ! his cheek grows warm 
Under the magic charm, 
And he moves his white arm ! 

Love is dreaming, 
His little limbs shiver, 
His soft eye-lids quiver, 
Like rays on a river : 

Love is waking. 


u Nothing left 
But what you touch, and not what touches you" 

Leigh Hunt. 

" Thou hast the fairy coin, which, in wrong hands 
Is merely stones and leaves ; — in thine, true gold" 

J. It. Lowell. 

It was a bright autumnal day, when two boys 
went forth to gather nuts. One was keen-eyed and 
self-important in his gait. The other had mild, 
deep eyes, and his motions were like flQwers sway- 
ing to a gentle breeze. Alfred, the keen-eyed, 
mounted the tree and shook it. "I should like to 
own a dozen such trees," said he, u and have all the 
nuts to myself." # 

" Oh, see how beautifully the setting sun shines 
slanting through the boughs, on the trunk, and 
branches ! It glows like gold !" exclaimed Er- 

"If the sun were like old Midas, that we read 
about at school, there would be some fun in it," 
replied Alfred ; " for if it turned all it touched into 
gold, I could peel off the bark and buy a horse 
with it." 


Ernest gazed silently at the golden sea of clouds 
in the west, and then at the warm gleams it cast on 
the old walnut tree. He stood thus but a moment ; 
for his companion aimed a nut at his head, and 
shouted, " Make haste to nil the basket, you lazy 
fellow !" 

The nuts were soon gathered, and the boys 
stretched themselves on the grass, talking over 
school affairs. A flock of birds flew over their 
heads towards the south. " They are flying away 
from winter," said Ernest. "How I should like to 
go with them where the palms and cocoas grow ! 
See how beautifully they skim along the air !" 

" I wish I had a gun," rejoined Alfred ; " I would 
have some of them for supper." 

It was a mild autumnal twilight. The cows had 
gone from the pastures, and all was still, save the 
monotonous noise of the crickets. The fitful whist- 
ling of the boys gradually subsided into dreamy 
silence. As they lay thus, winking drowsily, Er- 
nest saw a queer little dwarf peep from under an 
arching root of the walnut tree. His little dots of 
blue eyes looked cold and opaque, as if they were 
made of turquoise. His hands were like the claws 
of a bird. But he was surely a gentleman of prop- 
erty and standing," for his brown velvet vest was 
embroidered with gold, and a diamond fastened his 
hat-band. While Ernest wondered who he could 
be, his attention was attracted by a bright little 
vision hovering in the air before him. At first, he 


thought it was a large insect, or a small bird ; but 
as it floated ever nearer and nearer, be perceived 
a lovely little face, with tender, luminous eyes. 
Her robe seemed like soap-bubbles glancing in the 
sun, and in her bonnet, made of an inverted White 
Petunia blossom, the little ringlets shone like finest 
threads of gold. The stamen of a White Lily served 
her for a wand, and she held it towards him, - 
ing, in tones of soft beseeehment, u Lei me touch 
your eyes !" 

" You had better touch my wand. You will find 
it much more to the purpose," croaked the dwarf 
under the walnut root. "Look here! wouldn't you 
like to have this?" and he shook a purse full of 
coins, as he spoke. 

"I don't like your cold eyes and your skinny 
fingers," replied Ernest. " Pray, who are you ?" 

"My name is Utouch," answered the gnome; 
" and I bring great luck wherever I go." 

11 And what is your name, dear little spirit of the 
air ?" asked Ernest. 

She looked lovingly into his eyes, and answered, 
" My name is Touchu. Shall I be your friend for 
life ?" 

He smiled, and eagerly replied, " Oh yes ! oh 
yes ! your face is so full of love !" 

She descended gracefully, and touched his eyes 
with her Lily-stamen. The air became redolent 
with delicate perfume, like fragrant Yiolets kissed 
by the soft south wind. A rainbow arched the 


heavens, and reflected its beautiful image on a mir- 
ror of mist. The old tree reached forth friendly 
arms, and cradled the sunbeams on its bosom. 
Flowers seemed to nod and smile at Ernest, as if 
they knew him very well, and the little birds sang 
into his inmost soul. Presently, he felt that he was 
rising slowly, and undulating on the air, like a 
winged seed when it is breathed upon ; and away 
he sailed, on fleecy clouds, under the arch of the 
rainbow. A mocking laugh roused him from his 
trance, and he heard Utouch, the gnome, exclaim 
jeeringly, " There he goes on a voyage to one of 
his air-castles in the moon I" Then he felt himself 
falling through the air, and all at once he was on 
the ground. Birds, flowers, rainbows, all were 
gone. Twilight had deepened into dreary even- 
ing ; winds sighed through the trees, and the crick- 
ets kept up their mournful creaking tones. 'Ernest 
was afraid to be all alone. He felt round for his 
companion, and shook him by the arm, exclaiming, 
"Alfred! Alfred, wake up! I have had a won- 
derful fine dream here on the grass." 

"So have I," replied Alfred, rubbing his eyes. 
"Why need you wake me just as the old fellow 
was dropping a purse full of money into my 
hand?" " 

" What old fellow ?" inquired Ernest. 

"He called himself Utouch," answered Alfred, 
" and he promised to be my constant companion. 
I hope he will keep his word ; for I like an old 


chap that drops a purse of gold into my hand when 
I ask for it." 

" Why, I dreamed of that same old fellow," said 
Ernest, "but I didn't like his looks." 

" Perhaps he didn't show you the full purse ?" 
said Alfred. 

" Yes, he did," replied Ernest ; "but I felt such 
a love for the little fairy with tender eyes and heart- 
melting voice, that I choose her for my life-friend. 
And oh, she made the earth so beautiful !" 

His companion laughed and said, " I dreamed of 
her, too. So you have preferred that floating soap- 
bubble, did you ? I should have guessed as much. 
But come, help me carry the nuts home, for I am 
hungry for my supper." 


Years passed, and the boys were men. Er- 
nest sat writing in a small chamber, that looked 
toward the setting sun. . His little child had hung 
a prismatic chandelier-drop on the window, and he 
wrote amid the rainbows that it cast over his paper. 
In a simple vase on his desk stood a stalk of blos- 
soms from the brilliant wild flower, called the Car- 
dinal. Unseen by him, the fairy Touchu circled 
round his head and waved her Lily-stamen, from 
which the fine gold-coloured dust fell on his hair in 
a fragrant shower. In the greensward below, two 
beautiful yellow birds sat among the catnip-blos- 
soms, picking the seed, while they rocked gracefully 
on the wind-stirred plant. Ernest smiled as he said 


to himself, " Grone are the dandelion blossoms, which 
strewed my grass-carpet with golden stars ; and 
now come these winged flowers to refresh the eye. 
When they are gone to warmer climes, then will 
the yellow butterflies come in pairs ; and when 
even they are gone, here in my oboe sleep the soft 
yellow tones, ever ready to wake and cheer me 
with their child-like gladness." 

He took up the instrument as he spoke, and 
played a slight nourish. A little bird that nestled 
among the leaves of a cherry tree near by, 'caught 
the tones of the oboe and mocked it with a joyous 
trill, a little sunny shower of sound. Then sprang 
the poet to his feet, and his countenance lighted up 
like a transfigured one. But a slight cloud soon 
floated over that radiant expression. u Ah, if thou 
only wert not afraid of me I" he said. " If thou 
wouldst come, dear little warbler, and perch on my 
oboe, and sing a duet with me, how happy I should 
be ! Why are man and nature thus sundered ?" 

Another little bird in the Althea bush, answered 
him in low sweet notes, ending ever with the plain- 
tive cadence of the minor-third. The deep, tender 
eyes of the child-man filled with tears. " We are 
not sundered," thought he. H Surely my heart is in 
harmony with Nature ; for she responds to my in- 
most thought, as one instrument vibrates the tones 
of another to which it is perfectly attuned. Bless- 
ed, blessed is nature in her soothing power." As 
he spoke, Touchu came floating on a zephyr, and 


poured over him the fragrance of mignonette she 
Lad gathered from the garden below. 

•* * * * * * •* 

At the same hour, Alfred walked in his cons 
vatory among groves of fragrant Geraniums and 
richly-flowering Cactuses. He smoked a cigar, and 
glanced listlessly from his embroiduivd slippers to 
the marble pavement without taking notice of the 
costly flowers. The gardener, who was watering a 
group of Japonicas, remarked, " This is a fine speci- 
men that has opened to-day. J Will you have the 
goodness to look at it, sir?" lie paused in his 
walk a moment, and looked at a pure white blos- 
som, with the faintest roseate blush in the centre. 
"It ought to be handsome," said he. "The price 
was high enough. But after all the money I have 
expended, horticulturists declare that Mr. Duncan's 
Japonicas excel mine. Its provoking to be out- 
done." The old gnome stood behind one of the 
plants, and shrugged his shoulders and grinned. 
Without perceiving his presence, Alfred muttered 
to himself, " Utouch promised my flowers should 
be unequalled in rarity and beauty." 

"That was last year," croaked a small voice, 
which he at once recognized. 

" Last year I" retorted Alfred, mocking his tone. 
" Am I then to be always toiling after what I never 
keepf That's precious comfort, you provoking 
imp I" 

A retreating laugh was heard under the pave- 


ment, as the rich man threw his cigar away, ex- 
claiming impatiently, " The devil take the Japoni- 
cas ! what do I care ? they're not worth fretting 


* * * # * # * 

"Weeks passed and brought the returning seventh 
day of rest. The little child, who caused home- 
made rainbows to flicker over the father's poem, 
lay very ill, and the anxious parents feared that 
this beautiful vision of innocence might soon pass 
away from the earth. The shadows of a Madeira- 
vine now and then waved across the window, and 
the chamber was filled with the delicate perfume 
of its blossoms. ISTo sound broke the Sabbath still- 
ness, except the little bird in the Althea bush, 
whose tones were sad as the voice of memory. 
The child heard it, and sighed unconsciously, as he 
put his little feverish hand within his mother's, 
and said, " Please sing me a hymn, dear mother." 
With a soft, clear voice, subdued by her depth of 
feeling, she sang Schubert's Ave Maria. Manifold 
and wonderful are the intertwining influences in 
the world of spirits ! What was it that touched 
the little bird's heart, and uttered itself in such 
plaintive cadences ? They made the child sigh for 
a hymn ; and bird and child together woke Schu- 
bert's prayerful echoes in the mother's bosom. 
And now from the soul of the composer in that 
far-off German land, the spirit of devotion comes 
to the father, wafted on the wings of that beautiful 


music. Ernest bowed bis bead reverently, and 
sank kneeling by tbe bed-side. While he listened 
thus, Touchu glided softly into his bosom and -laid 
her wand upon his heart. When the sweet be- 
seeching melody had ceased, Ernest pressed the 
hand of the singer to his lip, and remained awhile 
in silence. Then the strong necessity of supplica- 
tion came over him, and he poured forth an ardent 
prayer. With fervid eloquence, he implored for 
themselves an humble and resigned spirit, and for 
their little one, that, living or dying, good angels 
might ever carry him in their protecting arms. As 
they rose up, his wife leaned her head upon his 
shoulder, and with tearful eyes whispered : 

" God help us, this and every day, 
To live more nearly as we pray" 

* * * * #■ ■* * 

That same morning, Alfred rode to church in his 
carriage, and a servant waited with the horses, till 
he had performed his periodical routine of worship. 
Many-coloured hues from the richly-stained windows 
of the church glanced on wall and pillar, and im- 
parted to silk and broadcloth the metallic lustre of 
a peacock's plumage. Gorgeous in crimson man- 
tle, with a topaz glory round his head, shone the 
meek son of Joseph the carpenter ; and his humble 
fishermen of Gralilee were refulgent in robes of pur- 
ple and gold. The fine haze of dust, on which the 


sunbeams fell, gleamed with a quivering prismatie 
reflection of their splendour. From the choir de- 
scended the heavenly tones of Schubert's Ave Ma- 
ria. They flowed into Alfred's ear, but no Touchu 
was with him to lay her wand upon his heart. To 
a visitor, who sat in his cushioned pew, he whis- 
pered that they paid the highest price for their mu- 
sic, and had the best that money could command. 
The sermon urged the necessity of providing some 
religious instruction for the poor ; for otherwise 
there could be no security to property against rob- 
bery and fire. Alfred resolved within himself to 
get up a subscription immediately for that purpose, 
and to give twice as much as Mr. Duncan, whatever 
the sum might be. Utouch, who had secretly sug- 
gested the thing to him, turned somersets on the 
gilded prayer-book, and twisted diabolical grima- 
ces. But Alfred did not see him ; nor did he hear 
a laugh under the carriage, when, as they rolled 
home, he said to his wife, "My dear, why didn't 
you wear your embroidered shawl ? I told you we 
were to have strangers in the pew. In so handsome 
a church, people expect to see the congregation ele- 
gantly dressed, you know." 

But though Utouch was a mocking spirit, Alfred 
could not complain that he had been untrue to his 
bargain. He had promised to bestow any thing he 
craved from his kingdom of the outward. He had 
asked for honour in the church, influence at the ex- 
change, a rich handsome wife, and superb horses. 


He had them all. Whose fault was it, that he was 
continually looking round anxiously to observe 
whether others had more of the goods he coveted ? 
He had wished for a luxurious table, and it stood 
covered with the rarest dainties of the world. But 
with a constrained smile he said to his guests, "Is 
it not provoking to be surrounded with luxuries 
I cannot eat ? That pie-crust would torment my 
sleep with a legion of nightmares. It is true, I do 
not crave it much ; for I sit at a loaded table ' half- 
famished for an appetite,' as the witty Madame de 
Sevigne used to say. Again and again, he asked 
himself, why all the fruit that seemed so ripe and 
tempting on the outside was always dry and dusty 
within. And if he was puzzled to understand why 
he seemed to have all things, and yet really had 
nothing, still more was he puzzled to explain how 
Ernest seemed to have so little, and yet in reality 
possessed all things. One evening, at a concert, he 
happened to sit near Ernest and his wife, while 
they listened to the beautiful Symphony by Spohr, 
called the Consecration of the Tones. Delighted 
as children were they, when they began to hear the 
winds murmur through the music, the insects pipe, 
and one little bird after another chirp his notes of 
gladness. How expressively they looked at each 
other, during the tender lulling Cradle-Song ! and 
how the expression of their faces brightened and 
softened, as the enchanting tones passed through 
the lively allegro of the Dance, into the exquisite 


melody of the Serenade ! But when Cradle-Song, 
Dance, and Serenade all moved forward together in 
delightful harmony, a three-fold chord of lovely 
melodies, the transparent countenance of Ernest 
became luminous with his inward joy. It was evi- 
dent that Touchu had again laid her thrilling wand 
upon his heart. 

"How the deuce does he contrive always to 
delight himself?" thought Alfred. "I wonder 
whether the music really is any thing uncommon." 

In order to ascertain, he turned from Ernest to 
watch the countenance of a musical critic near by ; 
one of those unfortunate men, who enjoy music as 
the proof-reader enjoys the poetry he corrects in 
a printing-office. How can a beautiful metaphor 
please him, while he sees a comma topsy-turvy, or 
a period out of place ? How can he be charmed 
by the melodious flow of the verse, while he is 
dotting an i, or looking out for an inverted s ? The 
critic seemed less attentive to his business than the 
proof-reader ; for he was looking round and whis- 
pering, apparently unconscious that sweet sounds 
filled the air. Nevertheless, Utouch whispered to 
Alfred that the critic was the man to inform him 
whether he ought to be delighted with the music, 
or not. So, at the close of the Symphony, he 
spoke to him, and took occasion to say, "I invited 
a French amateur to come here this evening, in 
hopes he would receive a favourable impression of 
the state of music in America. You are an excel- 



lent judge of such matters. Do you think he will 
be satisfied with the performance ?" 

"lie may be pleased, sir, but not satisfied" re- 
plied the critic. "The composition is a very fine 
one, but he has doubtless heard it in Paris; and 
until you have heard a French orchestra, sir, you 
can have no conception of music. Their accuracy 
in rhythmical time, amounts to absolute perfect- 

"And do you think the orchestra have played 
well to night?" 

"Tolerably well, sir. But in the Cradle-Song 
the clarionet lagged a little, once or twice ; and the 
effect of the Serenade was injured, because the vio- 
loncello was tuned one-sixteenth of a note too 

Alfred bowed, and went away congratulating 
himself that he had not been more delighted than 
was proper. 

The alleged impossibility of having any concep- 
tion of music unless he went to Europe, renewed a 
wish he had long indulged. He closed his magnifi- 
cent house, and went forth to make the fashionable 
tour. Ernest was a painter, as well as a poet ; and 
it chanced that they met in Italy. Alfred seemed 
glad to see the friend of his childhood ; but he soon 
turned from cheerful things, to tell how vexed he 
was about a statue he had purchased. "I gave a 
great price for it," said he, " thinking it was a real 
antique ; but good judges now assure me that it is 


a modern work. It is so annoying to waste one's 
money !" 

" Bnt if it be really beautiful, and pleases you, 
the money is not wasted," replied Ernest ; "though, 
it certainly is not agreeable to be cheated. Look 
at this ivory head to my cane ! It is a bust of Hebe, 
which I bought for a trifle, yesterday. But small 
as is the market value, its beauty is a perpetual de- 
light to me. If it be not an antique, it deserves to 
be. It troubles me that I cannot find the artist, 
and pay him more than I gave for it. Perhaps he 
is poor, and has not yet made a name for himself; 
but whoever he may be, a spark of the divine fire 
is certainty in him. Observe the beautiful swell of 
the breast, and the graceful turn of the head !" 

"Yes, it is a pretty thing," rejoined Alfred, half 
contemptously. "But I am too much vexed with 
that knave who sold me the statue, to go into rap- 
tures about the head of a cane just now. What 
makes it more provoking is, that. Mr. Duncan pur- 
chased a real antique last year, for less money than 
I threw away on this modern thing." 

" Having in vain tried to impart his own sunny 
humour, Ernest bade him adieu, and returned to his 
humble lodgings, out of the city. As he lingered 
in the orange-groves, listening to the nightingales, 
he thought to himself, " I wish that charming little 
fairy, who came to me in my boyish .dream, would 
touch Alfred with her wand ; for the purse the old 
gnome gave him seems to bring him little joy." 


He happened to look up at the moment; and there, 
close by his hand, was Touclm balancing herself 
tip-toe on an orange-bud. She had the same lu- 
minous, loving eyes, the same prismatic robe, and 
the same sunny gleam on her hair. She smiled as 
she said, "Then you do not repent your early 
choice, though I could not give you a purse full 
of money ?" 

" Oh, no indeed," replied he. " Thou hast been 
the brightest blessing of my life." 

She kissed his eyes, and, waving her wand over 
him, said affectionately, " Take then the best gift I 
have to offer. When thou art an old man, thou 
shalt still remain, to the last, a simple, happy 



But show me, on thy flowery breast, 
Earth, where thy nameless martyrs rest ! 
The thousands, who, uncheered by praise, 
Have made one offering of their days. 

Mrs. Hemans 

" Hukra I" exclaimed John Grolding to his sis- 
ter Esther. " See what Mr. Brown has bought with 
Biddy's eggs I" 

The boy's eyes sparkled, and his hands trembled 
with delight, while Esther's more serious counten- 
ance lighted up with a quick smile. 

The treasure John exhibited with such exult- 
ation, was a worn copy of Goldsmith's Manners 
and Customs. The title-page declared that it was 
adorned with plates ; but readers accustomed to the 
present more beautiful style of publishing would 
have been slow to admit that the straight, lank 
figures, daubed with engraver's ink, were any or- 
nament to the volumes. To the unpractised eyes 
of John and his sister, they were, however, gems 
of Art ; and the manner in which they were ob- 
tained greatly increased their value. The children 


had received a cake and two little chickens from 
a neighbour, in payment for picking cranberries. 
Never did chickens give rise to such extensive 
speculations ; not even the imaginary brood of the 
famous milk-maid. The chickens would become 
J in is, and the hens would lay eggs, and Mr. Brown, 
who drove the market-wagon, would sell the eggs, 
and there were ever so many books in Boston, and 
who could guess what wonderful stories they would 
buy with their eggs ? The vision was realized in 
due time. The chickens did become hens, and laid 
s; and Mr. Brown listened good-naturedly to 
John's request to sell them and buy "a book, that 
had pictures in it, and told about countries a way 
off." Goldsmith's Manners and Customs came as 
the fruit of these instructions, and was hailed with 
an outburst of joy. 

Most boys would have chosen to buy marbles or 
a drum ; but John's earliest passion had been for a 
book. The subtle influences which organize tem- 
peraments and produce character, are not easily 
traced. His intellectual activity certainly was not 
derived from either of his parents ; for they were 
mere healthy sluggish animals. But there was a 
tradition in the neighbourhood, that his maternal 
grandmother was " an extraordinary woman in her 
day ; that few folks knew so much as she did ; and 
if her husband had been half as smart and calcu- 
lating, they would have been very fore-handed 
people !" 


The children of the "extraordinary woman" in- 
herited her husband's inert temperament, but her 
own energetic character re-appeared in her grand- 
children ; and they had the good fortune to be born 
in New England where the moral atmosphere stimu- 
lates intellect, and the stream of knowledge flows 
free and full to all the people. Esther was as eager 
for information, as her more vivacious brother ; and 
though, as a woman, her pathway of life was more 
obstructed, and all its growth more stinted, she 
helped to lead him into broader avenues than she 
herself was allowed to enter. Being two years older 
than he, it was her delight to teach him the alpha- 
bet, as soon as he could speak ; and great was her 
satisfaction when he knew all the letters in her lit- 
tle, old primer, and could recite the couplet that 
belonged to each. They conveyed no very distinct 
idea to his mind, but Esther's praise made him very 
vain of this accomplishment. A dozen times a day, 
he shouted the whole twenty-four, all in a row, and 
was quite out of breath when he arrived at : 

" Zaceheus he 
Did climb a tree, 
His Lord to see 1" 

The mother, who was a kindly but dull woman, 
took little interest in their childish scrambling after 
literature ; but she sent them to the town-school, 
for the sake of having them out of the way ; and 
she was somewhat proud that her children could 


"read joining-hand," as she called it, earlier than 
neighbours of the same age. One day. when the 
minister of the village called, she told John to 
bring his book about Manners and Customs, and 
let the minister hear how well they could read. 
The good old man w r as much pleased with the 
bright boy and his intelligent, motherly si.- 
When their mother told him the story of the eg 
he patted them on the head and said: " Thai's 
right, my children. You can't be too fond of your 
books. They are the best friends in the world. 
If you ask them, they will tell you about every 
thing I" This remark, uttered in a very serious 
tone, made a deep impression. That evening, 
brother and sister sat on the door-step, eating their 
supper of bread and milk, the sun set bright and 
clear after a transient shower, and a beautiful rain- 
bow arched the entire heavens. " Oh, Esther, look 
at that pretty rainbow!" exclaimed John. "Ah, 
see ! see ! now there are two of 'em !" He gazed 
at the beautiful phenomenon with all his soul in. 
his eyes, and added : "As soon as we have eggs 
enough, we will get Mr. Brown to buy a book that 
tells how rainbows are made, and where they come 
from." Esther replied, that she did wish the hens 
would lay three eggs a day. 

When the market-man was commissioned to pur- 
chase another volume, he declared himself unable 
to find one that told where rainbows came from. 
In lieu thereof, he brought Bruce's Travels ; and 


an unfailing source of entertainment it proved. 
Thus month by month their little library increased, 
and their intellectual craving grew fast by the food 
it fed on. They gathered berries, picked chips, 
ran on errands, rose early, and worked late, to ac- 
cumulate sixpences. 

When this is done merely to obtain animal in- 
dulgences, or for the sake of possessing more than 
others, there is something degrading in the servile 
process ; but when the object is pursuit of knowl- 
edge for its own sake, all creeping things become 
winged. Beautiful it is to see human souls thus 
struggling with poverty and toil, sustained only by 
those ministering angels, Hope and Faith ! Those 
who have life enough to struggle thus, are all the 
stronger for the contest. For the vigorous intellect 
it is better to be so placed than to be born in pal- 
aces. Jean Paul says truly : " Wealth bears far 
heavier o»i talent than poverty. Under gold moun- 
tains and thrones, who knows how many a spiritual 
giant may lie crushed down and buried ?" 

Esther and her brother were troubled with no 
ambitious conjectures whether or not they could 
ever become spiritual giants ; they simply felt that 
the acquisition of knowledge was present delight. 
They thought little of hats and shoes, till father 
and mother said these must be bought with a por- 
tion of their wages ; but after that, they were 
doubly careful of their hats, and often carried their 
shoes in their hands. Thus were they, in their 


unconscious earnestness, living according to laws 
which highest reason would prescribe for the whole 
social fill >ric, They worked industriously at manual 
labor, but always with a spiritual end in view ; 
and that spiritual end was their own chosen re- 
creation. They practised the most careful econo- 
my, but it was neither mean nor painful, because it 
was for a noble use, not for the mere sake of accu- 

Though the poor parents were obliged to appro- 
priate a portion of the children's juvenile earnings, 
there was one little fund that was entirely thoir 
own. The two chickens had a progeny of chickens, 
and these, in process of time, likewise laid eggs. 
John picked up every stray grain of oats he could 
find, because he had heard it was a good kind of 
food to increase eggs ; and busy little Esther saved 
all the oj^ster shells she could find, to pound for 
the hens in winter, when there was no gravel to 
furnish material for the shells. The cackling of a 
hen was to them an important event. Esther smiled 
at her knitting as she heard it, and John, as he 
plucked the weeds, raised up his head to listen. 
Hens have been often laughed at for proclaiming 
all abroad that another egg is in the world ; but 
John's brood had a right to crow over their mission. 
Cackle away to thy heart's content, thou brown lit- 
tle feather- top ! Never mind their jibes and jeers ! 
Thy human superiors often become world-famous 
by simply obeying an impulse, which, uncon- 


sciously to themselves, evolves extensive and pro- 
gressive good ; and thou art not the first prattling 
egotist, who has worked for far higher results than 
he had the ability to comprehend. Let him who 
laughs at thy cackling, measure, if he can, what 
share thy new-laid egg may have in changing the 
destiny of man ! It will aid in the culture of a 
human soul. It will help to develop and stimu- 
late individual thought. And if generously aimed 
and fearlessly uttered, may not that individual 
thought pervade and modify the entire opinion of 
society ? And is not law the mere record of aggre- 
gate opinion ? 

Truly the cackling hen brought no such thoughts 
to simple Esther and her brother John. To them 
it merely announced that another egg was laid, and 
thereby another cent gained toward the purchase 
of a new book. They talked the stories over by 
the light of the moon, or recited to each other fa- 
vorite passages from Burns and Bloomfield. When 
the field-labourers took their noon-day rest, you 
would be sure to find John hidden away in the 
shade of a haystack, devouring a book. His zeal 
attracted the minister's attention, and he often stop- 
ped to talk with him. One day, he said to the 
mother, "This boy will make something extraor- 
dinary. He must get an education. He must go 
to college, ma'am." 

" Bless my heart, I might as well think of send- 
ing him to the moon !" she replied. 


But Esther heard it with a quick blush of pleas- 
ure and pride ; and henceforth the one absorbing 
thought of her life was how to assist in sending 
John to college. Busily she calculated how much 
could be earned in two years by knitting, and bind- 
ing shoes, and braiding straw. John listened with 
rapture to her plans, but his triumph was checked 
midway by the recollection that his sister could 
not go to college with him. "Why, Esther, you 
have c#ways been my teacher," he said. "You 
learn faster than I do, and you remember better. 
Why don't women go to college ?" 

" They couldn't be lawyers, and ministers, and 
judges, if they did" answered Esther. 

"Why not?" said John. 

Esther's knowledge and reflection on the subject 
stopped there, and she simply replied that women 
never had done such things. 

" Why, yes, they have," said John. " The Bible 
says that Deborah was a judge ; and Queen Eliza- 
beth was more than a j uclge ; and we read the other 
day that Isabella of Spain knew how to direct an 
army, and govern the state, better than her hus- 
band, King Ferdinand. I am sure I don't see why 
women shouldn't go to college." 

The boy, in the eagerness of brotherly love, had 
started ideas which he was too ignorant to follow. 
But in his simple question lies the germ of thoughts 
that will revolutionize the world. For as surely as 
there is a God of harmony in the universe, so surely 


will woman one day become the acknowledged 
equal and co-worker of man, in every department 
of life ; and yet be more truly gentle and affection- 
ate than she now is. 

But Esther was too young to reflect on such 
matters. She loved her brother, and she wanted 
him to go to college ; and with unquestioning dili- 
gence she applied her faculties to the purpose, in 
every way that was left open for her. She scarcely 
allowed herself time to eat and sleep, and grudged 
herself every article of apparel, so zealous was her 
sisterly love. Poor girl ! there was no one to teach 
her the physical laws, and she knew not that toil- 
ing thus perpetually, without exercise for the body, 
or recreation for the mind, was slow suicide. Month 
after month she laboured, and seldom spoke of pains 
in her side, and confused feelings in her head. 
Even her favourite luxury of reading was almost 
entirely relinquished ; and John had little leisure 
to read to her such books as were entertaining. 
The minister had offered to hear him recite Latin 
and Greek once a week, and he was too busy with 
the classics, to have time for Yoyages and Travels. 
He often repeated his lessons to his sister, and from 
his bald translations she here and there gleaned a 
few ideas ; but this kind of mental effort was little 
profitable, and less enlivening. Blessed Nature 
stood ever ready to refresh and strengthen her. 
The golden dandelion blossoms smiled brightly in 
her face, and the trees stretched their friendly arms 


over her in blessing; but she had no time to listen 
to their kind voiees. It would have been difficult 
to lure her aside from her arduous path, even if 
she had known that it would lead to an open 

When an object is pursued with such concen- 
trated aim and persevering effort, it is almost al- 
ways attained. John taught school in the winters, 
and worked at whatever his hand could hnd to do 
in the summers. Esther hoarded all her earnings, 
to add to the Education Fund, as they called it: 
and their good friend the minister borrowed a hun- 
dred dollars for them, to be repaid according to 
their own convenience. At last, the darling hope 
of many years was realized. John went to college, 
and soon ranked among the best scholars of his 
class. His sister still toiled, that he might have a 
sufficiency of books and clothing. He studied hard, 
and taught school during college vacations, and re- 
turned home at the end of four years, attenuated 
almost to a skeleton. 

The new milk and cheese-whey, the breath of 
the cows, and the verdure of the fields, refreshed 
him, and in some degree restored his exhausted 
strength. But now he was fretted with the ques- 
tion, what to do with the education he had ac- 
quired with so much hardship. An additional ex- 
penditure of time and money was required to fit 
him for either of the professions. He was not 
stimulated by any strong preference for either of 


them, and his generous soul resisted the idea of 
taxing his sister's strength any further for his own 
advantage. The old question of his boyhood re- 
turned with additional force. Why should she, 
with her noble nature and admirable faculties, be 
forever penned up within the small routine of petty 
cares, and mere mechanical efforts ? Why should 
she not share his destiny, and enjoy with him a 
more expansive atmosphere for soul and body ? 
To this end he resolved to labour. He would earn 
money by the readiest means that offered, and de- 
vote his earnings to her improvement. But Esther 
said, " If you educate me, dear John, what can I 
do with my education ? I can do nothing but teach 
school ; and for that I am sure my health is not 
adequate. The doctor says I must take as much 
exercise as possible." 

" The doctor !" exclaimed John. " Why, Esther, 
you never told me you had been ill enough to con- 
sult a physician." 

"It is merely a slight difficulty in my lungs," 
she replied. "I am going to spin on the great 
wheel this winter ; and I think that will cure me. 
Do not trouble your kind heart about me, my dear 
John. While I have any health and strength, I 
will never consent to be a burden upon you, how- 
ever much you may urge it. I do not believe that 
sisters ought to depend on brothers for support. 
I am sure it is far better for the characters of 
women to rely on their own energies. But some- 


times I think we have not a fair chance in the 
world. I often wish, as 3^011 do, that it was easy 
for us to obtain a more liberal education, and cus- 
tomary to use that education in a freer scope for all 
our faculties. But never mind, dear brother, the 
door of your cage is open, and the world is all be- 
fore you. Go where you will, I know you will 
never forget the sister, who loves you so dearly. 
You are destined to go far ahead of me in life ; but 
your good heart will never allow you to be ashamed 
of your poor untutored Esther." 

John folded her close to his heart, and turned 
away to hide the gathering tears. He was more 
than ever desirous to do something for the high cul- 
ture of that generous and affectionate soul. The 
way to earn a moderate income was soon opened to 
him. The widowed sister of one of the college 
professors wanted a private tutor for her sons ; and 
John Golding was recommended by her brother. 
Here he came in contact, for the first time, with 
the outward refinements of life. Charming music, 
harmonious colours, elegant furniture, and, above 
all, the daily conversation of a cultivated woman, 
breathed their gentle and refining influences over 
his strong and honest soul. At first, he was shy 
and awkward, but the kindly atmosphere around 
him, gradually unfolded the sleeping flower-buds 
within, and without thinking of the process, the 
scholar became a gentleman. By careful economy, 
he repaid Esther the sums she had advanced for 


his education ; but the question was forever re- 
newed how he should manage to have her share 
his advantages, without sacrificing her noble spirit 
of independence. His visits to the old homestead 
reminded him, sometimes a little painfully, that he 
was leaving his family far behind him in the career 
of knowledge and refinement. His father chewed 
tobacco, without much regard to cleanliness. His 
kind old mother would cut the butter with the same 
knife she had used in eating. She had done so all 
her life, but he had never before noticed it, and it 
vexed him to the heart to find himself so much 
annoyed by it now. His serious, gentle sister, was 
endowed with an unusual degree of natural refine- 
ment, which is usually a better teacher of manners, 
than mere conventional politeness. But once, when 
he brought home one of his pupils, she came out 
to meet them dressed in a new gown, of dingy blue 
and brick-red, with figures large enough for bed- 
curtains. He blushed, and was for a moment 
ashamed of her ; then he reproached himself that 
his darling Esther could seem to him in any respect 
vulgar. The next week he sent her a dress of deli- 
cate material and quiet colours, and she had tact 
enough to perceive, that this was a silent mode of 
improving her taste. 

The most painful thing connected with his own 
superior culture was the spiritual distance it pro- 
duced between him and his honest parents. Their 
relative positions were reversed. Father and mother 
17 n 


looked up with wondering deference to their chil- 
dren. Like hens that have hatched ducks, they 
knew not what to make of their progeny, thus 
launching out on a fluid element, which they had 
never tried. But he perceived the distance between 
them far more clearly than they could. He could 
ive the whole of their thought, hut was con- 
stantly obliged to check the utterance of his own, 
from a consciousness that allusions the most com- 
mon to him, would be quite unintelligible to them. 
"The butterfly may remember the grub, but the 
grub has no knowledge of the butterfly." With 
Esther he had unalloyed pleasure of companion- 
ship ; for though ignorant of the world, and de- 
ficient in culture, she was an intelligent listener, 
and it charmed him to see her grow continually 
under the influence of the sunshine he could bring 
to her. IIow he loved to teach her ! How he 
longed to prove his gratitude by the consecration 
of all his faculties and means to her use ! 

In little more than a year after he left college, 
a delightful change came over his prospects. A 
brother of the widow in whose family he had been 
tutor, was appointed ambassador to Spain, and 
through her influence he selected John Grolding for 
his private secretary. Esther, true to her unselfish 
nature, urged him by all means to accept the offer. 
" When you were a little boy," said she, " you were 
always eager to know about countries a great way 
off. But we little thought then that our cackling 


hens would ever bring you such a golden oppor- 

John's satisfaction would have been complete, 
if he could have taken Esther with him to that 
balmy clime. But she had many objections to 
offer. She said her rustic manners unfitted her 
for the elegant circles in which he would move ; 
and he replied that she would catch the tone of 
polished society far more readily than he could. 
She reminded him that their parents needed his 
assistance to repair the old dilapidated homestead, 
and to purchase cows ; and that he had promised 
to devote to their use the first money he could 
spare. He sighed, and made no answer ; for he 
felt that his pecuniary resources were altogether 
inadequate to his generous wishes. Again the 
question returned, " Why cannot women go abroad, 
and earn their own way in the world, as well as 
men?" The coming ages answered him, but he 
did not hear the prophecy. 

At last the hour of parting came. Painful it 
was to both, but far more painful to Esther. The 
young man went forth to seek novelty and ad- 
venture ; the young woman remained alone, in the 
dull monotony of an uneventful life. And more 
than this, she felt a mournful certainty that she 
should never behold her darling brother again, 
while he was cheered by hopes of a happy re- 
union, and was forever building the most romantic 
"castles in Spain." She never told him how very 


ill she was ; and lie thought her interrupted breath 
was caused merely by the choking emotions of an 
over-charged heart. 

He deposited with a friend more money than 
he could have prevailed upon her to accept, and 
made a choice collection of books and engravings, 
to cheer her during his absence. To the last mo- 
ment, he spoke of coming for her next year, and 
carrying her to the sunny hills of Spain. With a 
faint smile she promised to learn Spanish, that she 
might be able to talk with her brother Don Scol- 
ardo ; and so with mutual struggle to suppress 
their tears, the brother and sister, who had gone so 
lovingly, hand in hand, over the rough paths of 
life, parted just where the glancing summit of his 
hopes rose bright before him. 

A letter written on board ship was full of cheer- 
ful visions of the quiet literary home they would 
enjoy together in the coming years. The next let- 
ter announced his arrival in Spain. Oh, the ro- 
mantic old castles, the picturesque mills, the rich 
vineyards, the glowing oranges, the great swelling 
bunches of grapes ! He was half wild with enthu- 
siasm, and seemed to have no annoyance, except 
the fact that he could not speak modern languages. 
" I ought not," said he, " to complain of the college- 
education for which we toiled so hard, and which 
has certainly opened for me the closed gateway of 
a far nobler life than I could probably have entered 
by any other means. But after all, dear Esther, 


much of my time and money was spent for what I 
cannot bring into use, and shall therefore soon for 
get. Even my Latin was not taught me in a way 
that enables me to talk freely with the learned for- 
eigners I meet. By the light of my present expe- 
rience, I can certainly devise a better plan of edu- 
cation for my son, if I ever have one. Meanwhile, 
dear sister, do not work too hard ; and pray study 
French and Spanish with all diligence ; for laugh 
as thou wilt at my ' castles in Spain,' I will surely 
come and bring thee here. Think of the golden 
oranges and great luscious grapes, which thou wilt 
never see in their beauty, till thou seest them here ! 
Think of seeing the Alhambra, with its golden lat- 
tice-work, and flowery arabesques ! Above all, im- 
agine thyself seated under a fig-tree, leaning on the 
bosom of thy ever-loving brother !" 

Poor Esther ! This description of a genial cli- 
mate made her sigh ; for while she read it, the 
cold East winds of New England were cutting her 
wounded lungs like dagger-points. But when she 
answered the precious letter, she made no allusion 
to this. She wrote playfully, concerning the health 
of the cows and the hens ; asked him to inform her 
what was cackle in Spanish, for she reverenced the 
word, and would fain know it in all languages. 
Finally, she assured him, that she was studying 
busily, to make herself ready to reside in the grand 
castle he was building. The tears came to her eyes, 
as she folded the letter, but she turned hastily aside, 


that they might not drop on the paper. Never in 
her life had she been willing to let her shadow cr< 
his sunshine. 

It was the last letter she ever wrote. She had 
Bought to crown her brother with laurels on earth, 
and his ministering angel crowned her with gar- 
lands in heaven. 

****** ft 

Three years afterwards, John stood by her hum- 
ble grave in his native village. The tears flowed 
fast, as he thought to himself, " And I once blushed 
for thee, thou great and noble soul, because thou 
wert clothed in a vulgar dress! Ah, mean, un- 
grateful wretch, that I was ! And how stinted was 
thy life, thou poor one ! — A slow grinding martyr- 
dom from beginning to end." 

He remembered the wish she had so meekly ex- 
pressed, that women might have a more liberal 
education, and a wider scope for their faculties. 
"For thy sake, thou dear one," said he, "I will be 
the friend and brother of all women. To their im- 
provement and elevation will I consecrate my tal- 
ent and my education. This is the monument I 
will build to thee ; and I believe thy gentle spirit 
will bless me for it in heaven." 

He soon after married a young woman, whose 

character and early history strongly resembled his 

beloved sister's. Aided by her, he devoted all his 

energies to the establishment of a Normal School 

or Young Women. Mind after mind unfolds un- 


der his brotherly care, and goes forth to aid in the 
redemption of woman, and the slow harmonizing 
of our social discords. 

"Well might ^iccle brown feather-top cackle aloud; 
for verily her mission was a great one. 



In morning hours, 

Full of flowers, 

Our swift boats glide 

O'er life's bright tide ; 
And every time the oars we raise 
The falling drops like diamonds blaze. 

From earth and sky 

Comes melody ; 

And ev'ry voice 

Singeth, " Rejoice !" 
While eehoes all around prolong 
The cadenee of that wondrous song. 

Above each boat 

Bright fairies float, 

Mounting on air 

To castles there. 
The earth is full of glorious things 
All tinged with light from rainbow wings. 

Dear Friendship's smile, 

And Love's sw r eet wile, 

Make Life all bright 

"With genial light, 
And seem to shine with steady ray, 
That ne'er can change, or fade away. 



More slowly glides life's evening boat, 
And withered flowers around it float. 
The drops fall dark from weary oars, 
And dismal fogs shroud all the shores. 

Like widowed bird that mourns alone, 
Sings Music, in her minor tone, 
Of flowers that blossom but to die ; 
And echoes answer plaintively. 

Bright fairies change to limping hags ; 
Their rainbow wings to dingy rags. 
Dark heavy clouds sail through the air, 
Where golden castles shone so fair. 

Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old ; 
Friendships decline, and Love is cold. 
Dim twilight changes morn's ideal 
To flick'ring shadows, all unreal. 

But joy remains, if we have thrown 
Fresh flowers to boats around our own. 
Though currents part us far and wide, 
Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died. 

Or if our blossoms formed good seeds, 
Such as the growing future needs, 
Those little germs perchance may yield 
Rich waving crops in Time's ripe fields. 


Though dark the tide we're drifting o'er, 
It brings us near that brighter shore, 
Where longing souls at length will know 
The use of this world's changing show. 

Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down, 
Life's ev'ning wears a starry crown, 
Where weary ones, who look above, 
May read the letters, " God is love." 




Send thou abroad a love for all who live, 

And feel the deep content in turn they give. 

Kind wishes and good deeds — they make not poor ; 

They'll home again, full laden to thy door. 

The streams of love flow back where they begin ; 

For springs of outward joys lie deep within. 

R. W. Dana. 

It is curious to observe how a man's spiritual 
state reflects itself in the people and animals around 
him ; nay, in the very garments, trees and stones. 

Eeuben Black was an infestation in the neigh- 
bourhood where he resided. The very sight of 
him produced effects similar to the Hindoo magical 
tune, called Eaug, which is said to bring on clouds, 
storms, and earthquakes. His wife seemed lean, 
sharp, and uncomfortable. The heads of his bovs 
had a bristling aspect, as if each individual hair 
stood on end with perpetual fear. The cows poked 
out their horns horizontally, as soon as he opened 
the barn-yard gate. The dog dropped his tail be- 
tween his legs, and eyed him askance, to see what 


humour he was in. The cat looked wild and 
scraggy, and had been known to rush Btraight up 
the chimney when he moved toward her. Fanny 
Kemble's expressive description of the Pennsyl- 
vanian stage-horses was exactly suited to Reuben's 
poor old nag. " His hide resembled an old hair- 
trunk." Continual whipping and kicking had made 
him such a stoic, that no amount of blows could 
quicken his pace, and no chirruping could change 
the dejected drooping of his head. All his natural 
language said, as plainly as a horse could say it, that 
he was a most unhappy beast. Even the trees on 
Reuben's premises had a gnarled and knotted ap- 
pearance. The bark wept little sickly tears of gum, 
and the branches grew awry, as if they felt the con- 
tinual discord, and made sorry faces at each other, 
behind their owner's back. His fields were red 
with sorrel, or run over with mullein. Every thing 
seemed as hard and arid as his own visage. Every 
day, he cursed the town and the neighbourhood, 
because they poisoned his dogs, and stoned his 
hens, and shot his cats. Continual law-suits in- 
volved him in so much expense, that he had neither 
time nor money to spend on the improvement of 
his farm. 

Against Joe Smith, a poor labourer in the neigh- 
bourhood, he had brought three suits in succession. 
Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed, and 
Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe, and re- 
covered damages, for which he ordered the sheriff 


to seize his pig. Joe, in his wrath, called him an 
old swindler, and a curse to the neighbourhood. 
These remarks were soon repeated to Reuben. 
He brought an action for slander, and recovered 
twenty-five cents. Provoked at the laugh this oc- 
casioned, he watched for Joe to pass by, and set 
his big dog upon him, screaming furiously, " Call 
me an old swindler again, will you ?" An evil 
spirit is more contagious than the plague. Joe 
went home and scolded his wife, and boxed little 
Joe's ears, and kicked the cat ; and not one of them 
knew what it was all for. A fortnight after, Reu- 
ben's big dog was found dead by poison. Where- 
upon he brought another action against Joe Smith, 
and not being able to prove him guilty of the 
charge of dog-murder, he took his revenge by pois- 
oning a pet lamb, belonging to Mrs. Smith. Thus 
the bad game went on, with mutual worriment and 
loss. Joe's temper grew more and more vindictive, 
and the love of talking over his troubles at the grog- 
shop increased upon him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried, 
and said it was all owing to Reuben Black ; for a 
better-hearted man never lived than her Joe, when 
she first married him. 

Such was the state of things when Simeon Green 
purchased the farm adjoining Reuben's. The es- 
tate had been much neglected, and had caught 
thistles and mullein from the neighbouring fields. 
But Simeon was a diligent man, blessed by nature 
with a healthy organization and a genial tempera- 


merit; and a wise and kind education had aided 
nature in the perfection of her goodly work. His 
provident industry soon changed the aspect of 
things on the farm. Kiver-mud, autumn leaves, 
old shoes, and old bones, were all put in requi- 
sition to assist in the production of use and beauty. 
The trees, with branches pruned, and bark scraped 
free from moss and insects, soon looked clean and 
vigorous. Fields of grain waved where weeds had 
rioted. Persian lilacs bowed gracefully over the 
simple gateway. Michigan roses covered half the 
house with their abundant clusters. Even the 
rough rock which formed the door-step, was edged 
with golden moss. The sleek horse, feeding in 
clover, tossed his mane and neighed when his mas- 
ter came near ; as much as to say " The world is 
all the pleasanter for having you in it, Simeon 
Green !" The old cow, fondling her calf under 
the great walnut tree, walked up to him with se- 
rious friendly face, asking for the slice of sugar- 
beet he was wont to give her. Chanticleer, strut- 
ting about, with his troop of plump hens and 
downy little chickens, took no trouble to keep 
out of his way, but flapped his glossy wings, and 
crowed a welcome in his very face. When Simeon 
turned his steps homeward, the boys threw up their 
caps and ran out shouting, " Father's coming !" and 
little Mary went toddling up to him, with a dande- 
lion blossom to place in his button-hole. His wife 
was a woman of few words, but she sometimes said 


to Tier neighbours, with a quiet kind of satisfaction, 
"Everybody loves my husband that knows him. 
They can't^help it." 

Simeon Green's acquaintance knew that he was 
never engaged in a law-suit in his life ; but they 
predicted that he would find it impossible to avoid 
it now. They told him his next neighbour was 
determined to quarrel with people, whether they 
would or not ; that he was like John Liburne, 
of whom Judge Jenkins said, "If the world was 
emptied of every person but himself, Liburne 
would still quarrel with John, and John with 

" Is that his character ?" said Simeon, in his smil- 
ing way. "If he exercises it upon me, I will soon 
Mil him." 

In every neighbourhood there are individuals 
who like to foment disputes, not from any definite 
intention of malice or mischief, but merely because 
it makes a little ripple of excitement in the dull 
stream of life, like a contest between dogs or 
game-cocks. Such people were not slow in repeat- 
ing Simeon Green's remark about his wrangling 
neighbour. " Kill me ! will he ?" exclaimed Eeu. 
ben. He said no more ; but his tightly compressed 
mouth had such a significant expression, that his 
dog dodged him, as he would the track of a tiger. 
That very night, Eeuben turned his horse into the 
highway, in hopes he would commit some depre- 
dations on neighbour Green's premises. But Joe 


Smith, seeing the animal at large, let down the 
Lars of Reuben's own corn-field, and the poor 
beast walked in, and feasted as he had not done 
for many a year. It would have been a great 
satisfaction to Reuben if he could have brought a 
lawsuit against his horse; but as it was, he was 
obliged to content himself with beatins him. His 
n !xt exploit was to shoot Mary Green's handsome 
chanticleer, because he stood on the stone wall 
and crowed, in the ignorant joy of his heart, t\\ r o 
inches beyond the frontier line that bounded the 
contiguous farms. Simeon said he was sorry for 
the poor bird, and sorry because his wife and 
children liked the pretty creature ; but others 
it was no great matter. He had been intending 
to build a poultry yard, with a good high fence, 
that his hens might not annoy his neighbours ; and 
now he was admonished to make haste and do it. 
lie would build them a snug warm house to 
roost in ; they should have plenty of gravel and 
oats, and room to promenade back and forth, and 
crow and cackle to their heart's content ; there they 
could enjoy themselves, and be out of harm's way. 
But Reuben Black had a degree of ingenuity 
and perseverance, which might have produced 
great results for mankind, had those qualities been 
devoted to some more noble purpose than provok- 
ing quarrels. A pear tree in his garden very 
improperly stretched over a friendly arm into 
Simeon Green's premises. Whether the sunny 


state of things there had a cheering effect on the 
tree I know not ; but it happened that this over- 
hanging "bough bore more abundant fruit, and 
glowed with a richer hue, than the other boughs. 
One day, little George Green, as he went whistling 
along, picked up a pear that had fallen into his 
father's garden. The instant he touched it, he felt 
something on the back of his neck, like the sting 
of a wasp. It was Eeuben Black's whip, followed 
by such a storm of angry words, that the poor 
child rushed into the house in an agony of terror. 
But this experiment failed also. The boy was 
soothed by his mother, and told not to go near the 
pear tree again ; and there the matter ended. 

This imperturbable good nature vexed Eeuben 
more than all the tricks and taunts he met from 
others. Evil efforts he could understand, and 
repay with compound interest ; but he did not know 
what to make of this perpetual forbearance. It 
seemed to him there must be something contemp- 
tuous in it. He disliked Simeon Green more 
than all the rest of the town put together, because 
he made him feel so uncomfortably in the wrong, 
and did not afford him the slightest pretext for 
complaint. It was annoying to see every thing in 
his neighbour's domains looking so happy, and pre- 
senting such a bright contrast to the forlornness of 
his own. When their wagons passed each other 
on the road, it seemed as if Simeon's horse tossed 
his head higher, and flung out his mane, as if he 
18* o 


knew lie was going by Reuben Black's old nag. 
lie often said be supposed Green coy ired his 
house with roses and h< ckles on purpose to 

shame his bare walls. But lie didn't care — not 
he! lie wasn't going to be fool enough to rot his 
boards with such stuff But no one resented Lis 
disparaging remarks, or sought to provoke him in 
any way. The roses Bmiled, the horse neighed, 
and the calf capered; but none of them had the 
least idea bhej were insulting Reuben Black. 
Even the dog had no malice in his heart, though 
he did one night ch: me his ^ivcsc^ and bark 

at them through the bars. Reuben told his mas- 
ter, the next daj : he swore he would bring an 
action against him, if he didn't keep that dog at 
home ; and Simeon answered very quietly that he 
would try to take better care of him. For several 
days a strict watch was kept, in hopes Towzer 
would worry the geese again ; but they paced 
home undisturbed, and not a solitary bow-wow 
furnished excuse for a law-suit. 

The new neighbours not only declined quarrel- 
ling, but they occasionally made positive advances 
towards a friendly relation. Simeon's wife sent 
Mrs. Black a large basket full of very fine cherries. 
Pleased with the unexpected attention, she cor- 
dially replied, "Tell your mother it was very 
kind of her, and I am very much obliged to her." 
Reuben, who sat smoking in the chimney-corner, 
listened to this message once without any manifes- 


tation of impatience, except whiffing the smoke 
through his pipe a little faster and fiercer than 
usual. But when the boy was going out of the 
door, and the friendly words were again repeated, 
he exclaimed, "Don't make a fool of yourself, 
Peg. They want to give us a hint to send a 
basket of our pears ; that's the upshot of the busi- 
ness. You may send 'em a basket, when they 
are ripe ; for I scorn to be under obligation, espe- 
cially to your smooth-tongued folks." Poor Peggy, 
whose arid life had been for the moment refreshed 
with a little dew of kindness, admitted distrust 
into her bosom, and the halo that radiated round 
the ripe glowing cherries departed. 

Not long after this advance towards good neigh- 
bourhood, some labourers employed by Simeon 
Green, passing over a bit of marshy ground, with a 
heavy team, stuck fast in a bog occasioned by 
long continued rain. " The poor oxen were entirely 
unable to extricate themselves, and Simeon ven- 
tured to ask assistance from his waspish neighbour, 
who was working at a short distance. Eeuben 
replied gruffly, " I've got enough to do to attend to 
my own business." The civil request that he 
might be allowed to use his oxen and chains for a 
few moments being answered in the same surly 
tone, Simeon silently walked off, in search of a 
more obliging neighbour. 

The men, who were left waiting with the pa- 
tient, suffering oxen, scolded about Beubens ill- 


nature, and said they hoped he would get stuck in 
the same bog himself Their employer rejoined, 
"If he does, we will do our duty, and help him 

11 There is such a thing as being too good-natured," 
said they. " If Reuben Black takes the notion that 
people are afraid of him, it makes him trample on 
them worse than ever." 

" Oh, wait a while," replied Mr. Green, smiling, 
"I will kill him before long. Wait and see if I 
don't kill him." 

It chanced, soon after, that Eeuben's team did 
stick fast in the same bog, as the workmen had 
wished. Simeon observed it, from a neighbouring 
field, and gave directions that the oxen and chains 
should be immediately conveyed to his assistance. 
The men laughed, shook their heads, and said it was 
good enough for the old hornet. They, however, 
cheerfully proceeded to do as their employer had 
requested. "You are in a bad situation, neigh- 
bour," said Simeon, as he came alongside of the 
foundered team. " But my men are coming with 
two yoke of oxen, and I think we shall soon 
manage to help you out." 

" You may take your oxen back again," replied 
Reuben ; " I don't want any of your help." 

In a very friendly tone Simeon answered, " I can- 
not consent to do that ; for evening is coming on, 
and you have very little time to lose. It is a bad\ 
job any time, but it will be still worse in the dark." 


" Liglit or dark, I don't ask your help," replied 
Reuben, emphatically. " I would'nt help you out 
of the bog, the other day, when yon asked me." 

" The trouble I had in relieving my poor oxen 
teaches me to sympathize with others in the same 
situation," answered Simeon. " Don't let us waste 
words about it, neighbour. It is impossible for 
me to go home and leave you here in the bog, and 
night coming on." 

The team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and 
his men went away, without waiting for thanks. 
"When Reuben went home that night, he was 
unusually silent and thoughtful. After smoking 
a while, in deep contemplation, he gently knocked 
the ashes from his pipe, and said, with a sigh, 
" Peg, Simeon Green has killed me I" 

" What do you mean ?" said his wife, dropping 
her knitting with a look of surprise. 

" You know when he first came into this neigh- 
bourhood, he said he'd kill me," replied Reuben ; 
" and he has done it. The other day, he asked me 
to help draw his team out of the bog, and I told him 
I had enough to do to attend to my own business. 
To-day, my team stuck fast in the same bog, and 
he came with two yoke of oxen to draw it out. 
I felt sort of ashamed to have him lend me a hand, 
so I told him I didn't want any of his help ; but he 
answered, just as pleasant as if nothing contrary 
had ever happened, that night was coming on, and 
he was not willing to leave me there in the mud." 


11 It was very good of him," replied Peggy. " He 
is a pleasant-spoken man, and always has a pretty 
word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a 
nice neighbourly body, too." 

Keuben made no answer ; but after meditating a 
while, he remarked, " Peg, you know that big ripe 
melon down at the bottom of the garden ? you may 
as well carry it over there, in the morning." His 
wife said she would, without asking him to explain 
where " over there" was. 

But when the morning came, Keuben walked 
back and forth, and round and round, with that 
sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, 
and by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and 
don't know what to run after. At length, the 
cause of his uncertain movements was explained, 
by his saying, in the form of a question, " I guess 
1 may as well carry the melon myself, and thank 
him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in 
the marsh, I did'nt think to say I was obliged to 

He marched off toward the garden, and his wife 
stood at the door, with one hand on her hip, and 
the other shading the sun from her eyes, to see if 
he really would carry the melon into Simeon 
Green's house. It was the most remarkable inci- 
dent that had happened since her marriage. She 
could hardly believe her own eyes. He walked 
quick, as if afraid he should not be able to carry 
the unusual impulse into action if he stopped to 


reconsider the question. When he found himself 
in Mr. Green's house, he felt extremely awkward ? 
and hastened to say, "Mrs. Green, here is a melon 
my wife sent you, and we reckon it's a ripe one." 
Without manifesting any surprise at such unex- 
pected courtesy, the friendly matron thanked him, 
and invited him to sit down. But he stood play- 
ing with the latch of the door, and without raising 
his eyes said, "May be Mr. Green ain't in, this 

"He is at the pump, and will be in directly," 
she replied; and before her words were spoken, 
the honest man walked in, with a face as fresh 
and bright as a June morning. He stepped right 
up to Eeuben, shook his feand cordially, and said, 
" I am glad to see you, neighbour. Take a chair. 
Take a chair." 

"Thank you, I can't stop," replied Eeuben. He 
pushed his hat on one side, rubbed his head, looked 
out of the window, and then said suddenly, as if 
by a desperate effort, " The fact is, Mr. Green, I 
didn't behave right about the oxen." 

"Never mind, never mind," replied Mr. Green. 
" Perhaps I shall get into the bog again, some of 
these rainy days. If I do, I shall know whom to 
call upon." 

" Why you see," said Eeuben, still very much 
confused, and avoiding Simeon's mild clear eye, 
" you see the neighbors about here are very ugly. 


If I had always lived by such neighbours as you 
arc, I shouldn't bejust as I am." 

"Ah, well, we must try to be to others what we 
want them to be to us," rejoined Simeon. "You 
know the good book I have learned by 

experience that if we speak kind words, we hear 
kind echoes. If we try to make others happy, 
it fills them with a wish to make us happy. 
Perhaps you and I can bring the neighbourhood 
round, in time. Who knows? Let us try, Mr. 
Black I Let us try! But come and look at my 
orchard. I want to show you a tree, which I have 
grafted with very choice apples. If you like I 
will procure you some scions from the same stock." 

Tiny went into the orchard together, and 
friendly chat soon put Reuben at his ease. When 
he returned home, he made no remarks about his 
visit; for he could not, as yet, summon sufficient 
greatness of soul to tell his wife that he had con- 
fessed himself in the wrong. A gun stood behind 
the kitchen door, in readiness to shoot Mr. Green's 
dog for having barked at his horse. He now 
fired the contents into the air, and put the gun 
away in the barn. From that day, henceforth, he 
never sought for any pretext to quarrel with either 
the dog or his master. A short time after, Joe 
Smith, to his utter astonishment, saw him pat 
Towzer on the head, and heard him say, "Good 
fellow 1" 

Simeon Green was far too magnanimous to 


repeat to any one that his quarrelsome neighbour 
had confessed himself to blame. He merely smiled 
as he said to his wife, "I thought we should kill 
him, after a while." 

Joe Smith did not believe in such doctrines. 
When he heard of the adventures in the marsh, he 
said, " Sim Green's a fool. When he first came 
here he talked very big about killing folks, if they 
didn't mind their Ps and Qs. But he don't appear 
to have as much spirit as a worm ; for a worm will 
turn when its trod upon." 

Poor Joe had grown more intemperate and more 
quarrelsome, till at last nobody would employ him. 
About a year after the memorable incident of the 
water-melon, some one stole several valuable hides 
from Mr. Green. He did not mention the circum- 
stance to any one but his wife ; and they both had 
reasons for suspecting that. Joe was the thief. The 
next week, the following anonymous advertisement 
appeared in the newspaper of the county : 

"Whoever stole a lot of hides on Friday night, 
the 5th of the present month, is hereby informed 
that the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend. 
If poverty tempted him to this false step, the 
owner will keep the whole transaction a secret, 
and will gladly put him in the way of obtaining 
money by means more likely to bring him peace 
of mind."* 

* This advertisement is a literal copy of one actually pub- 
lished, and it produced the effects here related. 



This singular advertisement of course excited 
a good deal of remark. There was much debate 
whether or not the thief would avail himself of the 
friendly offer. Some said he would be a green- 
horn if he did; for it was manifestly a trap to 
catch, him. But he who had committed the dis- 
honest deed alone knew whence the benevolent 
offer came ; and he knew that Simeon Green was 
not a man to set traps for his fellow creatures. 

A few nights afterward a timid knock was 
heard at Simeon's door, just as the family were 
retiring to rest. When the door was opened, Joe 
Smith was seen on the steps, with a load of hides 
on his shoulder. Without raising his eyes, he said 
in a low, humble tone, " I have brought these back, 
Mr. Green. Where shall I put them ?" 

"Wait a moment, till I can get a lantern, and 
I will go to the barn with you," he replied. " Then 
you will come in, and tell me how it happened. 
We will see what can be done for you." 

Mrs. Green knew that Joe often went hungry, 
and had become accustomed to the stimulus of 
rum. She therefore hastened to make hot coffee, 
and brought from the closet some cold meat and a 

When they returned from the barn, she said, " I 
thought you might feel the better for a little warm 
supper, neighbour Smith." Joe turned his back 
toward her, and did not speak. He leaned his 
head against the chimney, and after a moment's 


silence, lie said in a choked voice, " It was the 
first time I ever stole any thing ; and I have felt 
very bad about it. I don't know how it is. I 
didn't think once I should ever come to be what 
I am. But I took to quarrelling, and then to 
drinking. Since I began to go down hill, every- 
body gives me a kick. You are the first man 
that has offered me a helping hand. My wife is 
feeble, and my children starving. You have sent 
them many a meal, God bless you ! and yet I stole 
the hides from you, meaning to sell them the first 
chance I could get. But I tell you the truth, Mr. 
Green, it is the first time I ever deserved the name 
of thief." 

"Let it be the last, my friend," said Simeon, 
pressing his hand kindly. " The secret shall re- 
main between ourselves. You are young, and 
can make up for lost time. Gome, now, give me 
a promise that you will not drink one drop of 
intoxicating liquor for a year, and I will employ 
you to-morrow, at good wages. Mary will go to 
see your family early in the morning, and perhaps 
we may find some employment for them also.. 
The little boy can at least pick up stones. But 
eat a bit now, and drink some hot coffee. It will 
keep you from wanting to drink any thing stronger 
to-night. You will find it hard to abstain, at first, 
Joseph ; but keep up a brave heart, for the sake 
of your wife and children, and it will soon be- 


come easy. "When you feel the need of coffee, tell 
my Mary, and she will always give it to you." 

Joe tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed 
to choke him. He was nervous and excited. After 
an ineffectual effort to compose himself, he laid his 
head on the table and wept like a child. 

After a while, Simeon persuaded him to bathe 
his head in cold water, and he ate and drank with 
a good appetite. When he went away, the kind- 
hearted host said, " Try to do well, Joseph, and 
you shall always find a friend in me." 

The poor fellow pressed his hand and replied, — 
u I understand now how it is you kill bad neigh- 

He entered in Mr. Green's service the next day, 
and remained in it many years, an honest and faith- 
ful man. 


" The whole subject of the brute creation is to me one of such 
painful mystery, that I dare not approach it" — Dr. Arnold. 

" If we deny them soul, we must admit that they have some 
spirit direct from God, what we call unerring instinct, which 
holds the place of it." — Sir Isaac Newton. 

Any reflecting person who has lived much in 
the country, and been observant of animals, must 
have had thoughts similar to those expressed in the 
above mottoes. Even the smallest and most com- 
mon animals sometimes give indications of thought, 
feeling, and memory, almost as remarkable as those 
related of the " half-reasoning elephant." If we 
could penetrate into the mysteries of their domes- 
tic arrangements, and learn of the humming-bird 
why she makes her little thimble of a nest so ex- 
actly the color of the tree on which it is placed, 
and of the mason -bee why he makes his small mor- 
tared cell to resemble so closely the stones of the 
wall where he inserts it, we should probably be 
still more puzzled to define the boundary between 
instinct and reason. 

Several times in my life my attention has been 
arrested, and my mind excited to activity, by sin- 
gular manifestations of intelligence in animals that 


came under my observation. A few summers ngo, 
when T was living at an old farm-house in New 
York, I chanced to go into the garret Late in the 

afternoon. The sun was setting in a Maze of 
glory, and I knelt at the western window, looking 
out long and lovingly upon the broad expanse of 
field and meadow, on which he was throwing a 
shower of gold as he passed away. After a while, 
my attention was diverted from this beautiful 8C 
by the motions of a wasp, that emerged from a 
crevice in the <>ld window, and began to nibble off 
thin, soft slivers of the decaying wood, to be used 
in constructing her nest. I bent very near to her, 
trying to ascertain by what process she cut up the 
materials so dexterously. Suddenly, she Stopped 
working, drew back a little, and appeared to watch 
me as closely as I watched her. At first, I thought 
this was a delusion of my imagination ; for I sup- 
posed her eyes were too small to see me. So 
I continued gazing at her, waiting to observe what 
she would do. She remained motionless, in an at- 
titude that expressed surprise and consternation as 
plainly as an insect could express them. Presently, 
another wasp came up from the same crevice, and 
began to nibble at the rotten wood. The first 
wasp immediately put out one of her antennae, and 
pulled the antenna of her neighbour, as I would 
jog the elbow of a companion, if I wished to call 
her attention to something extraordinary. The 
second wasp drew back instantly, in the same atti- 


tude, and, without stirring, appeared to gaze at 
me fixedly. A third wasp came. One of her an- 
tennae was cautiously pulled by the second comer ; 
and she did precisely as they had done. It may 
seem absurd to say I was troubled by the fixed 
stare of three wasps ; but there was something so 
human about their proceedings, that I was troubled. 
I was in the presence of a mystery. I asked my- 
self, What am, I to them? Do I appear like a 
vision of some superior being from another world ? 
From this thought, I came down to the recollec- 
tion that the sun was gleaming brightly on my 
eyes, and that, perhaps, their attention had been 
arrested merely by two great orbs of glittering 
light. What were they thinking of? Would they 
finally conclude to attack my eyes? I turned 
away suddenly, deeming it imprudent to stay any 
longer to ascertain that point. I was so much 
impressed by this little incident, that I frequently 
related it to my friends; and for years after- 
ward, I frequently found myself conjecturing what 
those wasps thought of the apparition by which 
they were so obviously startled. 

At the same farm-house there were two cats. 
Tom, who was old, heavy, and cross ; and Mouser, 
who was remarkably active and nimble. Her 
hunting qualities were famous throughout the 
neighbourhood. She kept the premises clear of 
rats and mice, and visited all the barns and fields 
in the vicinity for the same purpose. While I was 


there, she had three kittens, which seemed to be 
the especial objects of Tom's ill nature. When 
they began to open their eyes and stagger about, 
they sometimes stumbled over him; for which 
they were sure to receive a smart box on the ear. 
More than once, I saw his heavy paw knock the 
little blundering things topsy-turvy when they 
came near him. He even kept up a threatening 
growl if they seemed to be approaching from a 
distance. Things were in this state, when Mouser 
came into the kitchen one day, writhing and moan- 
ing, and giving every indication of great pain. 
Her body soon began to swell, and her manifesta- 
tions of suffering grew more and more violent. 
The family were remarkably kind to animals, and 
Mouser was such a valuable creature, that they 
were very desirous to save her life. They knew 
not whether she had been poisoned, or kicked by 
the horse, during her frequent visits to the barn ; 
and of course, they were doubtful what remedies 
to apply. They put her in a warm bath, and tried 
to pour catnip tea down her throat ; but their ef- 
forts were unavailing. In an hour or two, poor 
pussy was dead. 

While she was in this agonizing extremity, Tom 
seemed to rouse from his usual state of drowsy 
indifference. He lay with his head between his 
paws, watching her earnestly for awhile ; then he 
rose up and walked round her, evidently much 
disquieted. When he saw her lying stiff and cold 


on the floor, lie made no whining noise ; but his 
proceedings seemed to indicate that he knew what 
had happened. The kittens were nestled together 
on the platform of the old Dutch "stoop." He 
went out to them, and began to lick their fur in 
the most affectionate manner. After that, he was 
never seen to knock them about, and never heard 
to growl at them. Their own mother could not 
have treated them with more tenderness, or sub- 
mitted to their gambols with more patience. Ap- 
parently, they mistook the gruff old fellow for their 
mother ; for they went to him for nourishment, and 
he made no resistance. Again and again, I saw 
him stretched on the floor of the " stoop," while 
the kittens appeared to be sucking with all dili- 
gence, moving their little paws, as if satisfied and 
happy. This circumstance, of course, excited sur- 
prise in the family. One asked another whether 
it was possible that they obtained milk, or whether 
they drew blood for their sustenance. Tom never 
gave any indications of suffering inconvenience 
from this singular imitation of the maternal office. 
He must have nourished them in some way ; for 
they did not learn to lap milk for several days ; 
yet they lived, and seemed comfortable and thriv- 
ing. After Tom took upon himself the care of 
the orphans, he seemed to become really fond of 
them, and to enjoy the frolics that had formerly 
made him so angry. The voluntary exercise of 
benevolence improved his temper wonderfully for 


the time being, and evidently made him a much 
happier cat. 

An intimate friend has often mentioned to me 
incidents that occurred on his farm, illustrative of 
brute sagacity. He owned a noble great ox, un- 
commonly strong, docile, and intelligent. One 
day, when he and another ox were ploughing 
swampy land, they sank very deep into a quag- 
mire. Having made vigorous exertions to extri- 
cate himself, and finding the utmost exertion of his 
strength was ineffectual, he quietly waited for hu- 
man aid. But his companion had an impatient 
and irritable disposition, to which the lessons of ex- 
perience could teach no wisdom. He continued to 
struggle violently, at intervals, and every motion 
wrenched the neck of his suffering yoke-fellow. 
The gentle creature bore it patiently for a while ; 
but at last it became insupportable. His owner 
was standing completely behind him, leaning on the 
plough, until more help could be brought to draw 
them out of the "slough, of despond," into which 
they had fallen. The much-enduring animal turn- 
ed his long neck slowly round, and fixed his large 
patient eyes upon the man, with such an earnest, 
imploring gaze, so human in its expression, that it 
could never be forgotten. It said, as plainly as a 
look could say it, "Can you not contrive some way 
to relieve me from this tormenting companion?" 
His owner understood the silent appeal, and imme- 
diately divorced the unhappy couple, by removing 


the yoke from trie restless one ; thus leaving him 
free to waste his own strength, without injuring his 
more philosophic companion. This happened fif- 
teen years ago ; but I was reminded of it yester- 
day, by hearing my friend utter his often-repeated 
exclamation : "If I live to be a hundred years old, 
I shall never forget how that ox looked at me." 

The same person often speaks of the sagacity 
manifested by another ox on his farm. It was late 
in the evening, and all the animals were safely 
lodged in the barn, when his attention was arrested 
by loud knocks in that direction. They continued 
to be repeated, at intervals of ten or fifteen min- 
utes, for an hour or more ; and the idea that some 
vagrant might be in the barn doing mischief, at 
last induced him to go out with a lantern to ex- 
amine the premises. Finding nothing unusual, he 
gave up the search and retired to rest. But the 
heavy, measured sound continued, and excited cu- 
riosity to such a degree, that it was impossible to 
sleep. Another examination of the barn was made 
with the same result as before; but this time, 
my friend ensconced himself in a corner, and 
waited for a recurrence of the mysterious noise. 
In a few minutes, he saw an ox raise one of his 
hind hoofs, and strike the floor heavily three times. 
Supposing the animal must have some cause for 
dissatisfaction, he examined his stable, and found 
that the man had forgotten to furnish the usual 
supply of fresh straw for him to lie down upon. 


His demand for clean sheets was complied with, 
and no more knocking were heard from him. 

Another agricultural friend owned a colt endow- 
ed with uncommon beauty and intelligence. He 
was about a year and a half old when he first saw 
a string of bells suspended round his mother's neck 
when she was harnessed for a drive. The novel 
sound immediately arrested his attention, and 
seemed to enliven him greatly. He stood with up- 
lifted ears, watching and listening, till the sleigh 
had passed out of sight and hearing ; then, giving 
a snort and a rear, he capered round the barn-yard, 
in a state of unusual excitement. When the mare 
returned, the sound of the bells attracted him from 
afar, and he appeared to observe them closely when 
they were taken off and laid in the sleigh with the 
harness. As soon as the man had left them, the 
playful creature seized them between his teeth and 
trotted up and down the road, shaking them with 
prodigious satisfaction. This manner of playing 
old horse was evidently as entertaining to him, as 
it is to a boy to imitate the trainers with his feath- 
ered cap and drum. 

The natural dispositions of animals differ, as do 
those of mankind; but the intelligence and docility 
of brutes, as well as of human beings, is wonder- 
fully increased when they are judiciously reared, 
and treated with habitual kindness. It is not easy 
to tell how far the superiority of Arabian horses 
may be attributed to the affectionate companion- 


ship that exists between them and their masters. 
The whip is a detestable instrument. The evil it 
produces is immensely disproportioned to the tem- 
porary convenience it promotes. It compels sub- 
mission for the time being ; but it stupefies the in- 
tellect, and infuses malignity into the disposition, 
whether tried on children, slaves, or animals. The 
common practice' of whipping a horse, to cure him 
of being frightened by some particular object, usu- 
ally has the effect of giving him two causes of fear, 
instead of one. I remember reading of a much 
more judicious method, in Mrs. Hamilton's Essays 
on Education, published in England about thirty 
years ago. A horse of an excellent disposition 
had been frightened by a drum, when he was a 
colt, and nothing could overcome his excessive ter- 
ror of that instrument. The whippings he re- 
ceived, when he reared and plunged at the sound, 
rendered his associations with it so exceedingly 
painful, that his whole nervous system was excited 
to violent agitation, the instant he heard it ap- 
proaching. He was finally purchased by a gentle- 
man, who believed more in the efficacy of kind- 
ness, than he did in coercion. He kept him with- 
out food till he was hungry, and then spread oats 
on a drum-head. As soon as he began to eat, the 
groom began to drum. The frightened animal ran 
away, and could not be lured back again by the 
tempting display of provender. He was deprived 
of food for a still longer time, and the experiment 


was again tried with similar result. But the third 
time, hunger proved stronger than fear, and he de- 
voured his oats with the hated noise sounding loud- 
er and louder in his ears. After being thus ration- 
ally convinced that a drum would do him no harm, 
he ceased to be troublesome, and voluntarily walk- 
ed toward the sound which had become so pleas- 
antly associated in his memory. 

If men would educate animals in a sensible and 
patient manner, and treat them with habitual gen- 
tleness, it would produce intelligence and docility 
apparently miraculous, and realize on earth the 
prophecies of the millenium. 



Few, in the days of early youth, 
Trusted like me in love and truth. 
I've learned sad lessons from the years ; 
But slowly, and with many tears ; 
For God made me to kindly view 
The world that I was passing through. 

How little did I once believe 
That friendly tones could e'er deceive ! 
That kindness, and forbearance long, 
Might meet ingratitude and wrong ! 
I could not help but kindly view 
The world that I was passing through. 

And though I've learned some souls are base, 
I would not, therefore, hate the race ; 
I still would bless my fellow men, 
And trust them, though deceived again. 
God help me still to kindly view 
The world that I am passing through ! 

Through weary conflicts I have passed, 

And struggled into rest at last ; 

Such rest as comes when the rack has broke 

A joint, or nerve, at ev'ry stroke. 

But the wish survives to kindly view 

The world that 1 am passing through. 


From all that fate has brought to me 

I strive to learn humility ; 

And trust in Him who rules above, 

Whose universal law is love. 

Thus only can I kindly view 

The world that I am passing through. 

When I approach the setting sun, 
And feel my journey nearly done, 
May earth be veiled in genial light, 
And her last smile to me seem bright ! 
Help me, till then, to kindly view 
The world that I am passing through ! 

And all who tempt a trusting heart 

From faith and hope to drift apart, 

May they themselves be spared the pain 

Of losing power to trust again ! 

God help us all to kindly view 

The world that we are passing through ! 




Our life is turned 
Out of her course, wherever man is made 
An offering or a sacrifice ; a tool 
Or implement ; a passive thing, employed 
As a brute mean, without acknowledgment 
Of common right or interest in the end ; 
Used or abused, as selfishness may prompt. 


A native of the island of Celebes, who had been 
captured by slave-traders, was sold to Mr. Philip 
Yan der Hooft, of Surabaya, in the north-eastern 
part of Java. A Hindoo slave was given to the 
captive for a wife ; and she died, leaving a son two 
years old. This child Mr. Yan der Hooft gave to 
his sister Maria, a girl of fifteen, who had taken a 
great fancy to him when he was a babe. She was 
amused at the idea of receiving little Jan among 
her birthday presents, but he pleased her, perhaps, 
as much as any of them ; not as an article of prop- 
erty, but as a pretty plaything. He was, in fact, a 
child of singular beauty. His features were small, 


his limbs finely formed, and his large, dark, Hindoo 

3, eveD at that age, were tender and almosl 
in expression. His .-•use of sound was exceeding- 
ly acute. Maria was musical; and the moment he 
heard her piano, or guitar, he would drop his play- 
things and run into the parlour. There, he would 
creep under the table, to be out of the way, and sit 
listening, with all his soul shining through the 
varying expression of his countenance. Sometimes 
he was so exeited that he would quiver all over, 
and end by clapping his hands with a loud crow 
of delight ; but more frequently he was moved to 
teai-s. Being a general favourite, and the especial 
pet of his young mistress, he was seldom ejected 
from the parlour, when he chose to wander there. 
"When Maria was busy at her embroidery frame, if 
she raised her eyes, she would often see his little 
dark head peeping in, watching for her to take no- 
tice of him; and as soon as she said, "Ah, here 
comes my little brownie!" he would run to her 
with a jump and a bound, and stand gazing at the 
bright colours she was weaving into her work. If 
she was singing or playing when he entered, she 
would give him a nod and a smile ; and not unfre- 
quently she seated him in her lap, and allowed him 
to play on the piano. His fingers were too short 
to reach an octave, but he would touch thirds con- 
tinually ; smiling, and laughing, and wriggling all 
over with delight. Sometimes she amused herself 
by touching the first and seventh note of the gamut 


together, and then he would cringe, as if she had 
put her ringer in his eye. 

He was but three years old when his mistress 
married Lambert Yan der Veen, and removed with 
him to a country-seat near the neighbouring city 
of Grresik. Little, Jan did not thoroughly like that 
gentleman, because he was often sent out of the 
parlour when he came ; and Maria was so engrossed 
with her lover, that she sometimes forgot to nod 
.and smile when "little brownie" peeped into the 
xoom. He was very exclusive in his affections. 
He wanted to have those he loved all to himself, 
therefore, though the young man spoke kindly to 
him, and often gave him sugar-plums, a shadow 
always passed over his expressive face, when, ran- 
ging eagerly at the sound of the piano, he looked 
into the parlour and saw his rival there. 

But after Maria was married, he became, if pos- 
sible, more of a petted plaything than ever; for 
her husband was engaged in commercial pursuits, 
which often took him far from home, and their 
house, being two miles from the city, was more 
quiet than her father's place of residence had been. 
SI ie occupied many of her lonely hours in teaching 
Jsn various infantile accomplishments, and especi- 
ally in developing his remarkable powers of imita- 
tion. The birds greatly attracted his attention ; and 
in a few months he could mock them so perfectly, 
that they mistook his voice for their own. He soon 
did the same with the buzz and whirr of every in- 


sect, and laughed to hear how all the little crea- 
tures answered him. Nature had made him almost 
as sensitive to colours, as to sounds ; and whenever 
his mistress went into the garden, he would run 
after her to beg for a flower. She liked the sound 
of his little padding feet, and often smiled to watch 
his pliant motions and graceful form, clothed only 
with a large party-coloured bamboo hat, and a gir- 
dle of broad fringe about his loins. When the 
master was at home, he was obliged to find his en- 
tertainment more among th§ slaves. They gener- 
ally liked to sing or whistle to him, and would 
laugh merrily at his eager attempts to imitate. But 
some, who had children of their own, envied the 
high favour he enjoyed, and consequently bore 
no good will toward him. They did not dare to 
strike him, but they devised many ways of mak- 
ing him uncomfortable. Decidedly, he liked the par- 
lour better than the slaves' quarters. He preferred 
it in the first place, because he was more attended 
to there ; and in the next place, because he could 
hear so many pleasant sounds, and see so many 
pretty things. He liked the cool straw carpet, and 
the pale green walls. The big china jars were an 
object of perpetual delight. He was never weary 
of putting his little fingers on the brilliant flowers 
and butterflies, with which they were plentifully 
adorned. But what excited his wonder more than 
any thing else, was a folding screen of oriental- 
workmanship, which separated the parlour froni 


the dining-room ; for there were gilded pagodas, 
Chinese mandarins with peacock's feathers in their 
caps, and two birds-of-paradise, as large as life ; a 
great deal larger, in fact, than the mandarins or the 
pagodas. Then it was so pleasant to peep out into 
the garden, through the vine-embowered lattice- 
work of the verandah ; to see the blooming roses, 
and the small fountain's silvery veil ; to inhale the 
fragrance of the orange blossoms, and listen to the 
cool trickling of the tiny water drops. All this 
was in reality his ; for he knew not that he was a 
little slave ; and it is the privilege of unconscious 
childhood to own whatsoever it delights in. In 
this point of view, it all belonged to little Jan more 
truly than it did to Mr. Van der Yeen. No wonder 
he sighed when the master returned, since it con- 
demned him, for a time, to a degree of exile from 
his paradise. Perhaps there was some slight jeal- 
ousy on the other side, also ; for though the gentle- 
man was always kind to his wife's favourite, he 
sometimes hinted at the danger of spoiling him, 
and the intercourse between them was never very 
familiar. At first, little Jan was afraid to approach 
the parlour at all, when he was at home. But on 
one occasion, when his stay was unusually pro- 
longed, his patience became exhausted waiting for 
his departure. He began by peeping in slyly 
through the folding screen. Seeing himself ob- 
served, he ran away ; but soon came again and 
peeped, and receiving a smile from his mistress, he 


came in timidly, and offering his master a geranium 
blossom, said, u May little Jan stay?" Maria im- 
mediately said, " Oh yes, let him stay : he is so 
happy here." But there was no occasion to plead 
his cause ; for there was no resisting his pretty 
looks and his graceful offering. Mr. Van der Veen 
patted his head, and he crept under the table to 
listen to the piano. After that, he never avoided 
his master, though he still continued to come in 
timidly, and if not encouraged by a smile, would 
run off to bring a flower as an admission-fee. 

When he was about four years old, a more dan- 
gerous rival than a husband appeared. Maria had 
an infant son, which of course greatly engrossed 
her attention, and little Jan eyed it as a petted kit- 
ten does a new lap-dog. His face assumed an ex- 
ceedingly grieved expression, the first time he saw 
her caressing the babe. He did not cry aloud, for 
he was a very gentle child ; but he silently crept 
away under the table with the flowers he had 
brought in for his mistress; and as he sat there, in 
a very disconsolate attitude, tears dropped on the 
blossoms. Some of the servants made the matter 
much worse, by saying, in his hearing, "Now 
missis has a young one of her own, she won't make 
such a fool of that little monkey." His heart 
swelled very much ; and he ran with all haste to 
ask Madame Yan der Veen, if she loved little Jan. 
When he entered the parlour the fond mother hap- 
pened to be showing her son to visitors ; and as she 


turned, she held him toward the petted slave, say- 
ing, " Look at him, Janniken ! Isn't he a little 
beauty?" "No," replied he, louder than any one 
had ever heard him speak; "ugly baby \" and he 
gave his rival a thrust with his little fist. He was 
of course sent away in disgrace ; and the slave- 
mothers, seeing him in trouble, greeted him with 
the exclamation, " Ha, ha, little whistler ! I 
thought your nose would be put out of joint." 

A clergyman of the Eeformed Dutch Church, 
who witnessed this manifestation of hostility to- 
ward the baby, adduced it as a proof of the inher- 
ent depravity of the human heart. But time 
showed that the depravity was not very deep. Jan 
felt the bitter pang of being superseded where he 
loved, but he had a disposition too kindly to retain 
ill-will. His heart soon adopted the infant, and 
they became friends and playmates. When little 
Lambert grew old enough to toddle about, it was 
the prettiest of all imaginable sights to see them 
together among the vine-leaves that crept through 
the green lattice-work of the verandah. The blue- 
eyed baby, plump and fair, draped in white mus- 
lin, formed a beautiful contrast to his brown com- 
panion. They looked like two cupids at play ; one 
in marble, the other in bronze. But though they 
were almost inseparable companions, and extreme- 
ly fond of each other, it came to pass through a 
process of painful weaning, on the part of little 
Jan. Many a time he "sighed among his play- 


tilings," when lie saw Maria caressing her babe, 
without noticing that he was in the room. Many 
a time tears fell on his neglected offering of 

He was, however, far more fortunate than most 
slaves who happen to be petted playthings in their 
childhood ; for he only passed out of an atmosphere 
of love into an atmosphere of considerate kindi. 
His quick car for all variations of sound continued 
to be a great source of gratification to himself and 
his indulgent mistress. His voice was small, like 
himself, but it had a bird-like sweetness; and its 
very imperfections, resulting as they did from 
weakness and inexperience, imparted an infantine 
charm to his performances, like the lisping of child- 
ish prattle, or the broken utterance of a foreigner. 
When he could sing two or three simple melodies, 
Madame Van der Yeen gave him a little guitar, 
and taught him to accompany his voice. The pop- 
ulation of Java is an assemblage of various nations; 
and as he listened intently to whatever he heard 
hummed, whistled, or played, in the parlour or in 
the slave-quarters, he knew snatches of a great va- 
riety of tunes when he was six years old. It was 
his pleasure to twine Hindoo, Arab, Javanese, Eng- 
lish, and Dutch melodies into improvised fantasias, 
which resembled grotesque drawings, representing 
birds and monkeys, flowers, fruit, and human faces, 
bound together in a graceful tangle of vines. At 
eight years old, he was often trusted to go to Grre- 


sik on errands. Following his usual habits of list 
ening and observing, during these visits to the city 
he added greatly to his stock of popular airs, and 
soon learned to imitate all manner of instruments, 
as he had formerly imitated the birds. Hindoo lul 
labies, Arab dances, the boat-songs of the Javanese, 
as they passed up and down the river, English 
marches, Dutch drinking songs, and Chinese jingle- 
jangles, he could give a lively version of them all; 
and he was frequently called into the parlour to re- 
peat them for the entertainment of company. 

His master said it was time he was taught to 
labour. Maria assented, but made an arrangement 
by which duty and inclination were enabled to go 
hand in hand. She knew that his acutely sensuous 
nature reveled in perfumes and bright colours; 
therefore she told the Dutch gardener to take him 
for an assistant, and teach him all the mysteries of 
his art. It is never a toilsome employment to rear 
flowers and train vines ; and in that sunny, fertile 
region of the earth, light labour is repaid by a lav- 
ish tribute of fragrant blossoms and delicious fruit 
all the year round. Jan had an instinctive sense, 
which taught him what colours harmonized, and 
what forms were graceful. His mistress often 
praised his bouquets and garlands, and affection for 
her stimulated him to attain as much perfection as 
possible in the flowery decorations of her room, her 
table, and her dress. Little Lambert had a great 
desire to be helpful, also, in the garden, but the ex- 
21 Q 


ercise heated him, and he so often pulled up flow- 
ers instead of weeds, that his mother deemed it ne- 
cessary to retain him in the house. This arrange- 
ment made him so restless and unhappy, that Jan - 
undertook the responsibility of supplying him with/ 
flowers in the cool arbours, and keeping strict 
watch upon his movements. He often decorated 
him with a multitude of small bouquets, and twined 
garlands round his broad palm-leaf bat, till he 
looked like a dwarf May-pole, and then sent him 
into the house to show himself to his fond mother, 
who was always ready to feign ignorance, and in- 
quire what little boy that could be ; a manoeuvre 
invariably rewarded by an infantile laugh. In the 
course of one of these floral exhibitions, two hum- 
ming-birds followed him in the garden walks. His 
mother, who was watching him through the veran- 
dah lattice, saw the brilliant creatures circling 
round her darling's head, thrusting their long bills 
into the blossoms with which he was decorated; 
and she clapped her hands in an ecstasy of delight. 
After that, it was a favourite amusement with Jan 
to attract the humming-birds and butterflies round 
little master's hat. The next greatest entertain- 
ment was to teach him to imitate the birds, and to 
make him laugh or look solemn while he listened 
to merry or dolorous music. 

Thus bound together by the pleasant links of 
love, and flowers, and song, they stood together on 
the threshold of life, unable as yet to conceive the 


idea of master and slave. But when little Lam, as 
the j called him, was six years old, he was attacked 
by one of the violent fevers incident to the climate, 
and all the care unbounded affection could lavish 
upon him failed to save his life. During his illness 
he was unwilling to lose sight of Jan, who strewed 
his pillow with flowers, and sang soothing lullabies 
with unwearied patience. If the invalid dozed 
under the influence of his drowsy monotonous 
tones, he was still unable to leave his post ; for the 
little hand clasped his, as if fearful he would go 
away. When the spirit of the dear child departed, 
and the lovely form that once contained it was con- 
signed to the earth, no one but the father and mo- 
ther mourned like Jan. The first time they vis- 
ited the grave, they found it covered with flowers 
he had planted there. In the house, in the garden, 
everywhere, he missed the noise of the little feet, 
which seemed like an echo of his own, so constantly 
they followed him. For a while, all music was sad- 
dened to him, because every air he whistled or sung 
reminded him of some incident connected with the 
departed playmate. Months afterward, when he 
found among the shrubbery a wooden toy he had 
made for him, he sobbed aloud, and all day long 
the earth seemed darkened to his vision. This ten- 
der bond between him and the lost one revived all 
the affectionate interest Madame Yan der Yeen had 
ever felt for the " little brownie." But the playful- 
fulness of their intercourse was gone ; being alike 


unsuited to the sadness of her spirit, and trie in- 
creasing stature of her favourite. 

The young mother drooped under the blow, like 
flowers stricken by a black frost, never to revive 
again. The healing hand of time rendered her 
placid and resigned, but her former cheerfulness 
never returned. She became very devout, and all 
her music was an utterance of prayer. Looking 
on this life with the eye of one weary of its illu- 
sions, she steadfastly fixed her thoughts on that 
world whither her darling had gone. From the 
youthful soul of Jan the shadow was more easily 
lifted. Again he revelled in the bright colours, the 
pungent perfumes, and the varied sounds of that 
luxuriant region of the earth. Again he began to 
mock the birds and the boatmen, and to mingle in 
dances with the other young slaves. About two 
years after he lost his best beloved playmate, he 
met with a companion who more than supplied his 
place, and who imparted to his existence a greater 
degree of vivacity and joyfulness, than he had ever 
known. Walking toward Gresik, one morning, to 
execute some commission for his mistress, he heard 
a pleasant voice in the distance, singing a merry 
tune. The sounds approached nearer and nearer, 
and they were so lively, that involuntarily his feet 
moved faster. Presently, a young girl emerged 
from a clump of tamarind trees, with a basket of 
fruit on her head; and the tune stopped abruptly. 
The exj>ression of her countenance was extremely 


innocent and modest, and though her complexion 
was of a deeper brown than his own, a blush shone 
through it, like the glow of wine through a dark 
bottle in the sunshine. Jan noticed this as she 
passed; and something, he knew not what, made 
him remember her face very distinctly, and wish 
to see it again. He never went to Grresik without 
thinking of the merry voice in the distance, and 
never passed the clump of tamarind trees without 
recalling the bright vision he met there. Many 
weeks elapsed before he obtained another glimpse 
of her ; but at last he overtook her with her basket 
on the way to Gresik ; and this time they did not 
meet to pass each other ; for their path lay in the 
same direction. With mutual bashfulness they 
spoke and answered; and each thought the other 
handsomer than they had at first supposed. The 
acquaintance thus begun rapidly ripened into in- 
timacy. He was not yet thirteen years old, and she 
was not eleven. But in that precocious clime, Cu- 
pid shoots at children with a bow of sugar-cane ; 
and this little maiden carried a store of his arrows 
in her large lustrous eyes. After that, Jan was 
seized with redoubled zeal to do all the errands to 
Gresik ; and it so happened that he often overtook 
her on the way, or found her resting herself among 
the tamarind trees. Then her road homeward 
was, for a mile, the same as his own. Thus they 
travelled back and forth with their baskets, making 
the air musical as they went ; as happy as the birds, 


and as thoughtless of the coming years. During 
§e frequent interviews, he learned that she was 
a slave ; that her mother was from the island of 
Bali ; and that her Arab father had given her the 
name of Zaida. Before many months elapsed, 
Madame Van der Vei o heard, from the other ser- 
vants, that Jan was in love with a pretty girl, whose 
master lived not far from Gresik; and when she 
questioned him, he bashfully confessed the fact. 
Then she spoke very seriously to him, and told him 
how sorry she should be to see him doing as many 
did around him. She said if Zaida was a good girl, 
and wished to marry him, she would try to buy 
her ; and if they would promise to be faithful and 
kind to each other, they should have a handsome 
wedding at her house, and a bamboo hut to live in. 
This almost maternal kindness excited his sensitive 
soul to tears. She seized that impressible moment 
to talk to him concerning his duties to God, and to 
explain how He had made man for a higher destiny 
than to mate, like the birds, for a season. 

The negotiation for the purchase of Zaida was 
somewhat prolonged, and she was at last obtained 
at an unusually high price; for her master took 
advantage of Madame Van der Yeen's well-known 
character for generosity and indulgence to the in- 
mates of her household. Meanwhile, the gentle 
lady allowed her slave frequent opportunities of 
seeing his beloved. Once a week, he took his guitar 
and spent two or three hours with his singing-bird. 


Every errand to Grresik was intrusted to him, and 
Zaida found many occasions for going thither at the 
same hour. Yery beautiful were the scenes through 
which they passed in those happy days. South of 
them was a range of mountains, blue and softened 
in the distance. On the north was the bright sea, 
with the island of Madura lying like an emerald 
gem on its bosom. Bamboo cottages, shaded by a 
mass of luxuriant vegetation, dotted the level land- 
scape, as it were, with little islands, whose deep 
verdure formed a lovely contrast with the rich 
yellow of the ripened rice fields. Here, the large 
scarlet blossoms of a pomegranate, beautiful above 
all other trees, filled the air with fragrance; and 
there, a tall cocoa-palm reared its great feathery 
head high above the light elegant foliage of a 
tamarind grove. Arum lilies held up their large 
white cups among the luxuriant vines that lay 
tangled hv the wayside. Wild peacocks and other 
gorgeous birds flitted across their path, glittering 
in the sunlight, like jewels from fairy land. The 
warbling of birds, the buzzing of bees, the whiz and 
the whirr of numerous insects, all the swarming 
sounds of tropical life, mingled with the monoton- 
ous tones of boatmen coming down the river Solo 
with their merchandise, singing with measured ca- 

" Pull and row, brothers ! pull and row !" 

Only one discordant note disturbed the chorus 


which nature sang to love. Near the house where 
Zaida's master dwelt, there lived a Dutchman and 
his wife, who were notoriously cruel to their slaves. 
Zaida recounted some shocking instances of sever- 
ity, and especially expressed pity for a girl little 
older than herself, who had formerly belonged to 
a very kind master and mistress. When they died, 
she was sold at auction, and had the misfortune to 
pass into the hands of their inhuman neighbour, 
whose wife was jealous, and lost no opportunity of 
tormenting her. When Jan was singing some of 
the plaintive melodies to which his own taste always 
inclined him, or when, to amuse the merry Zaida, 
he imitated Chinese jingle jangles, sometimes the 
sound of the lash, accompanied with shrieks, would 
break in upon the music or the merriment, and put 
their spirits out of tune. Nature had made Jan 
more sensitive than reflective; and he had been 
brought up so like a humming-bird among flowers, 
that he had never thought any thing about his own 
liabilities as a slave. Now, for the first time, it oc- 
curred to him, "What if my master and mistress 
should die, and /should be sold?" 

An English family lived very near Madame Van 
der Yeen's, and, as both were musical, an intimacy 
had grown up between them. The father and 
mother of this family were very strongly opposed 
to slavery, and not unfrequently discussed the sub- 
ject. Jan, as he passed in and out of the parlour, 
waiting upon the guests, had been accustomed to 


hear these conversations as though he heard them 
not. In fact, he often wished the old Englishman 
would stop talking, and give his son an opportunity 
to accompany Madame Yan der Yeen's piano with 
his flute. But after those lashes and shrieks had 
waked up his mind to the possibility of auction and 
transfer, he listened more attentively, and carried 
with him into riper years the memory of many 
things he heard. 

When he was fourteen years old, and Zaida was 
twelve, they were married. Madame Yan der Yeen 
furnished cake and lemonade for the wedding, and 
gave gay dresses to the juvenile bride and bride- 
groom, who looked extremely well in their new 
finery. Jan had lost something of his childish 
beauty, but he was still handsome. His yellow 
complexion was rendered paler by the contrast of 
his jet black hair and the bright turban that sur- 
mounted it. His limbs were slender and flexible, 
his features small and well proportioned, and his 
large antelope eyes had a floating, plaintive expres- 
sion, as if there was always a tear in his soul. 
Zaida was rounder, and browner, and ruddier. Her 
dark hair was combed entirely back, and twisted 
into a knot, ornamented with scarlet flowers. The 
short downy hairs about the forehead curled them- 
selves into a little wavy fringe. From her small 
ears were suspended two large gilded hoops, a 
bridal present from the old Englishman. From 
her Arab father she inherited eyes more beautifully 


formed than belonged to her mother's race. The 
long dark lashes curled upward, and imparted a 
smiling expression, even in her most serious mo- 
ments ; and when she was amused, her eyes laughed 
outright. There was a harmonized contrast between 
her and her bridegroom, which was extremely agree- 
able. The young Englishman compared them to 
the major and minor mode ; and Madame Yan der 
Yeen said they looked like hope and memory. Per- 
sonal comeliness is rare among the natives of those 
islands. Little Zaida was like a ruby among pud- 

A bamboo hut, raised two feet from the ground, 
and consisting of two apartments, without windows, 
was their bridal home. It was all they needed in 
a climate where, more than half the year, all house- 
hold occupations could be most conveniently per- 
formed out of doors. There was a broad verandah 
in front, sheltered from rain and sun by the project- 
ing roof. In front was a grove of orange and lemon 
trees, and in the rear was a group of plantains, 
whose immensely long broad leaves and yellow 
spikes of nodding flowers cast refreshing shadows. 

A grass mat, of Jan's own weaving, and pillows 
filled with a kind of silky down from a wild plant, 
answered for a bed. Gourd shells, a few earthern 
dishes, and a wooden waiter from which they ate 
their meals, seated on the floor, constituted their 
simple furniture. The rooms, which received light 
from the open door, were used only for eating and 


sleeping. The verandah was the place where all 
their sedentary occupations were pursued. There, 
Zaida might be seen busy at her spinning-wheel 
and loom ; there, Jan wove mats and baskets for 
his master's household; and there stood his gam- 
bang, a musical instrument, with wooden bars of 
graduated lengths, which he struck with a mallet, to 
accompany the simple Javanese melodies that he 
and Zaida were accustomed to sing together. 

Years passed over their heads without any more 
serious variations than slight dissensions with the 
other slaves, occasional illness, and the frequent 
birth of children. Some of them resembled the 
father, others the mother ; and some had their eyes 
obliquely set, like the island ancestry from whom 
they descended. Some were bright, some dull, 
some merry and some pensive ; but Madame Yan 
der Yeen pronounced them all very good children ; 
and they certainly were trained to be devotedly at- 
tentive to her. During their first years, it cost 
nothing to clothe them, for they ran about naked ; 
and it required almost as little expense to furnish 
them with food, where rice was so easily cultivated, 
and plantains, cocoas and oranges grew wild. The 
warmth of the climate, the lavish bounty of the soil, 
the improvident habits which every human being 
must necessarily form, who acquires no property by 
economy, and the extreme indulgence with which 
he had always been treated by his gentle-hearted 
mistress, all conspired to render Jan forgetful of the 


precarious tenure by which he held the external 
blessings of his mere animal existence. Sometimes, 
when he went to Gresik, he passed by a slave-auc- 
tion, and the sight always gave him a pang; for it 
brought up a picture of Zaida and her children 
standing there amid the indecent jests and rude 
handling of a crowd of men. Sometimes he wit- 
nessed despotic and cruel treatment of slaves, and 
still more frequently he heard of such instances. 
Then came recollections of the lashes and shrieks, 
that used to interrupt his music and merriment in 
the days of courtship; and always they brought 
with them the question, " What if Zaida and our 
daughters should ever be sold to such people as 
that cruel Dutchman and his jealous wife ?" While 
any instances were fresh in his mind, he listened 
attentively to whatever was said about slavery by 
his master and the English family. From them he 
learned how the English, during their brief posses- 
sion of Java, had interdicted slave traffic with the 
neighbouring islands ; had passed laws forbidding 
slaves to be sold, except with their own consent ; 
and had allowed them to hold, as their own, any 
property they were able to acquire. Mr. Yan 
der Yeen tried to excuse the Dutch for renewing 
their slave-trade, by urging that it was a necessity 
imposed upon them, because there was no other 
method of procuring servants. The Englishman 
denied any such necessity. He maintained that 
the natives of Java were intelligent, teachable and 


honest, and very willing to render services for 
money. He highly commended the native princes 
for never permitting any of their own people to be 
slaves. He told of one of those princes, who had 
inherited fifty slaves ; but when the British Govern- 
ment declared that all should become free, unless 
publicly registered by their masters, within a speci- 
fied time, he said, "Then I will not register my 
slaves. They shall be free. I have kept them 
hitherto, because it was the custom, and because 
the Dutch liked to be attended by slaves when they 
visited the palace. But as that is not the case with 
the British, they shall cease to be slaves ; for I have 
long felt shame, and my blood has run cold, when I 
have reflected on what I once saw at Batavia and 
Semarang, where human beings were exposed at 
public sale, placed on a table, and examined like 
sheep and oxen." The Englishman declared that 
he lost no opportunity of talking with all classes of 
people on the subject, and of circulating publica- 
tions, translated into Dutch, and sent to him from 
England for that purpose ; and he expressed a 
strong belief that the Dutch would soon abolish 
slavery. In these conversations, nothing interested 
Jan so much as his master's statement, that, accord- 
ing to existing laws, slaves might purchase them- 
selves. He resolved to save all the small coins he 
might receive ; and visions flitted through his brain, 
of mats and baskets to be made, when his daily 
tasks were completed. But when he received this 



information, he already had a brood of children ; 
lie despaired of ever being able to collect money 
enough to buy them ; and his anxious thoughts 
were far more on their account, than on his own. 
lie always solaced himself with the thought that 
his mistress would not allow them to be sold while 
she lived, and that she would certainly make pro- 
vision for them before she died. 

Sixteen years of his married life had passed away, 
and during all that time such forecasting thoughts 
had been mere transient clouds fleeting across the 
sunshine of contentment. But the time came when 
Mr. Van der Veen was summoned to Batavia, on 
account of some entanglement in his commercial 
affairs; and three weeks afterwards, tidings were 
brought that he had died suddenly in that un- 
healthy city. Again Jan saw his mistress bowed 
to the earth with sorrow ; and it was beautiful to 
witness the delicate expressions of sympathy, which 
nature taught him. He moved noiselessly, and 
spoke softly. He and Zaida sang only religious 
hymns and soothing tunes, such as she loved to 
hear after her little Lam was taken away. His 
prettiest child, then nearly three years old, was 
sent every morning with a fresh bouquet of the 
flowers she loved best. He would never lie down 
for the night "until he believed she was sleeping ; 
and his first waking thoughts were devoted to her. 
It soon became known that Mr. Yan der Veen had 
died hi debt, and that a large portion of his property 


must be assigned to creditors. In this assignment 
were included many slaves, in various cities, and 
some belonging to his domestic establishment. Quite 
a small fortune for the widow was saved from the 
wreck of his wealth; and in that she expressly 
stipulated that Jan and all his family should be in- 
cluded, together with the estate on which she had 
always lived since her marriage. By this unex- 
pected turn of affairs, the remote contingency, 
which had sometimes created temporary uneasiness 
in Jan's mind, was brought frightfully near. He 
never again forgot, for a single day, scarcely for a 
single hour, that he was merely a favoured slave, 
and that all the lives intertwined with his held 
their privileges by the same precarious tenure. He 
never hinted his anxiety to any one but Zaida ; but 
Madame Yan der Yeen had the thoughtful kind- 
ness to assure him that she would dispossess her- 
self of every thing, rather than part with him and 
his family ; saying, at the same time, that there was 
no danger of her being called upon to make any 
such sacrifice, as there was enough property left to 
enable them all to live comfortably. He deeply 
and gratefully felt her kindness ; but the shadow 
of her death fell darkly across the consolation it 
imparted. Not for the world would he have told 
her so ; lest the suggestion should increase her mel- 
ancholy, by making her suppose that even the most 
attached of her servants, and the only ones she had 
left, wanted to be free to quit her service. 


Their English neighbour, being involved in the 
same commercial difficulties that had deranged Mr. 
Yan dcr Yeen's affairs, concluded to sell all his pro- 
perty in Java, and remove to Calcutta. He and 
his family spent their last evening with the widow 
of their deceased friend. While Jan was arranging 
fruit for their refreshment in the adjoining room, he 
heard his own name and that of Zaida uttered in 
low tones, accompanied with the disjointed words, 
" So much petted" — " the more hard" — " make pro- 
vision." In her usual soft tones, but so clearly that 
he heard every word, Madame Yan der Yeen re- 
plied, " I have thought of all that, my good friend. 
I will never part with any of them while I live ; 
and when I die, I will leave them all free." " Why 
not now?" urged the importunate Englishman. 
She answered, "My heart is heavy to-night, and 
business oppresses me ; but I assure you, most sol- 
emnly, that I will attend to it very soon." She 
never knew what a heavy load those words re- 
moved from the soul of her favourite slave. After 
he heard them, he seemed to step on air. Zaida, to 
whom the important discovery was forthwith im- 
parted, was even more elated. They hugged and 
kissed their little ones that night, with a feeling 
they ha^l never known before ; and zeal in the ser- 
vice of their good mistress was thenceforth re- 
doubled. At the departure of the English family, 
they gave some gay calico dresses to Zaida and the 
children, and a violin to Jan. The old gentleman 


put a golden ducat in his hand, saying, " I thank 
you, my good fellow, for all your attentions to me 
and mine. There is a trifling keepsake. May the 
blessing of heaven go with it, as mine does. I shall 
remember you all in my prayers. Farewell, Jan ! 
Always continue to be faithful and honest." The 
poor slave had never possessed a piece of gold 
before, and small as it was, it seemed to him a Gol- 
conda mine. First, he buried it in the ground, and 
put a stone over it. Then he was afraid some crea- 
ture might dig it up in the night. So he sewed it 
into a pouch, which he fastened securely within the 
girdle he constantly wore. The cares and anxieties 
of wealth had come upon him. 

While the carriage was waiting to convey the 
Englishman away, he walked over to Madame Van 
der Veen's, to bid a final farewell. His last words 
were, " My dear Madame, don't forget the talks we 
have had together; especially what we said last 
night. Since I have lived in Java, I have done my 
utmost to sow good seed on this subject, and I trust 
it will spring up and bring forth a harvest, sooner 
or later. From time to time, I shall send the mag- 
istrates publications, that will prevent their forget- 
ing what I have so often urged upon them. A 
blessing will rest upon this beautiful island in pro- 
portion as they attend to this. Eemember it in 
your prayers, my dear friend, and use your in- 
fluence aright. Don't say it is small. You have 
seen in your garden how great a growth comes 
22* R 


from one little seed. My friend, there are respon- 
sibilities in human- society, for which we shall have 
to answer unto our God. And now, farewell. The 
voice of the old man will never urge you more. 
May the blessing of heaven be with you all." 

The tendered-hearted widow wept freely ; for he 
had been her husband's friend, and the words he 
spoke were solemn. She resolved to make her will, 
and have it duly witnessed, that very day. But a 
visitor came, and after her departure, she felt a de- 
gree of lassitude, which unfitted her for exertion. 
The next day, she looked over letters from her hus- 
band, and brought on headache by inordinate weep- 
ing. She was indolent, by temperament and by 
habit, and she was oppressed with melancholy. 
Weeks passed on, without any more definite result 
than a frequent resolution to make her will. She 
had gone to bed with a mind much impressed with 
what her English friend said at parting, and trou- 
bled with self-accusation that she had 
so long, when Zaida was summoned to her bedside 
at midnight, and found her head hot, and her pulse 
throbbing. In the morning, she was delirious, and 
looked wildly upon her faithful attendants without 
recognizing them. With her incoherent ravings, 
during the day, were frequently mixed the words, 
" Jan — Zaida — children — free." The slaves listened 
tearfully to these broken sentences, and felt fresh 
assurance that she had provided for them. The 
physician thought otherwise ; but he merely said 


that something disturbed her mind, and if her life 
was not spared, he hoped she would have an inter- 
val of reason before she died. At the sound of that 
dreadful il if," Jan rushed out of the room, rolled 
himself on the floor, and sobbed convulsively. 
There was no selfishness in his sorrow ; for he had 
not the slightest doubt that she, who never broke a 
promise, had eared thoughtfully for the future wel- 
fare of himself and his family. It was simply the 
agony of parting from his earliest and best friend. 
She lingered four days, but reason never returned. 
Into that brief period was compressed more misery 
than Jan had experienced during his whole life. 
Gloomy forebodings brought all the superstitions 
of the island in their train. The first night his mis 
tress was taken ill, he shook his head, and said, 
Ah, Zaida, don't you remember she went to Sura- 
baya to dine, the very day we heard of master's 
death ? I told you then it was a very bad sign to 
go abroad the same day that you hear of the death 
of a friend." The next night he was startled by an 
unusual noise, attributed to explosions among the 
distant volcanic mountains ; and that was regarded 
as a certain prognostic of impending disaster. The 
following day was unusually sultry, and in the even- 
ing he saw phosphoric light quivering over the nas- 
turtiums in the garden. He had never witnessed 
the phenomenon before, and he was not aware that 
such a peculiarity had been previously observed in 
that glowing plant. He had no doubt that the 


light came from Spirits, who were waiting for Ma- 
dame Yan der Veen's soul. On the fourth morn- 
ing, he saw two crows fighting in the air; and 
thenceforth he had no hope. 

The spirit of his beloved mistress departed from 
her body at midnight. The rainy season was then 
approaching, attended by the usual characteristic 
of violent storms. The house trembled with the 
rolling thunder, and flashes of intensely vivid light- 
ning illumined the bed where the corpse lay, im- 
parting, for a moment, an appalling glare to its 
ghastly paleness. Jan and Zaida were familiar with 
such storms, but never before had they seemed so 
awful, as amid the death-loneliness of that de- 
serted house. A friendly neighbour pitied their 
grief and terror, and offered to remain with them 
until after the funeral. It was like tearing Jan's 
heart out, to see that dear face carried away, where 
he could behold it no more. Exquisitely sensitive 
by nature, his whole being was now all nerve and 
feeline, lacerated to the extremest degree of suffer- 


ing. She was placed by the side of her little Lam, 
and there he planted the flowers she had best loved. 
He laid himself down on the ground, and moaned 
like a faithful dog, on his master's grave. He 
thought of the stories others had told him concern- 
ing his petted childhood ; he remembered her sym- 
pathy and good advice when he was first in love 
with Zaida ; he recalled a thousand instances of her 
indulgent kindness ; the whole crowned by the pre- 


cious gift of freedom. He could not reconcile him- 
self to the thought that he should never again have 
her to rely upon. He had no heart for any thing, 
but to tend the flowers on those graves. 

When this storm of grief began to subside, he 
consoled himself with the thought, " Whatever hap- 
pens now, I can never again suffer as I have suffer- 
ed." More than a week passed, before he heard that 
Madame Yan der ■ Yeen had left no will ; that she 
had survived all her immediate relatives ; and that 
the nearest heir to the property resided at Manilla. 
This was a stunning blow. Zaida reminded him how 
their good mistress had instructed them to pray to 
God when they were in trouble ; and many a fer- 
vent imploring supplication ascended from their 
humble hut. Jan resolved to plead earnestly with 
the heir, and he comforted himself with the idea 
that the physician would tell him how their kind 
mistress had spoken of their freedom during her 
illness. But even if his entreaties should prevail 
with the stranger, where could they live ? Could 
they be sure of finding employment ? He spent 
every leisure moment in weaving mats and baskets 
for sale, and the children were kept busy gathering 
wild fruits for the market. Those things sold for 
a very low price, and it would be a long time in- 
deed before He could acquire a piece of land and a 
hut by that process. But the gold piece ! He felt 
of his girdle to ascertain if it was safe. Yes, it was 
there ; a nest-egg, from which his imagination hatch- 


ed a large brood of chickens. Ilope struggled with 
anxiety for a few weeks, and Zaida, who always 
looked on the bright side, continually repeated her 
belief that every thing would turn out well. But, 
at last, news arrived that the heir did not intend 
to visit Java ; that he had intrusted the business to 
an agent with instructions to sell all the property, 
of every description, and remit the proceeds to him. 
Poor Jan thought he could never again suffer as he 
had suffered ; but he was mistaken. This last blow 
broke him down entirely. A vision of the auction- 
stand, with his children bid off to different pur- 
chasers, was always before him. The lashes and 
shrieks, which had so much impressed his youthful 
mind, forever resounded in his imagination ; but 
now the shrieks came from Zaida and their little 

During the three weeks that preceded the sale, he 
could scarcely eat or sleep. He became emaciated 
and haggard, to such a degree that all who knew 
him felt pity for him. The sympathizing feeling 
was, however, soon quieted by saying to themselves, 
" It is a hard case, but it cannot be helped. Poor 
fellow ! I hope they will find kind masters." The 
physician spoke to many people in Gresik and its 
neighbourhood, declaring there could be no manner 
of doubt that Madame Yan der Veen had fully in- 
tended they should all be free. He told the agent 
how her mind was troubled upon the subject during 
her delirium. He replied that he was very sorry 


the ladj had left no will, but it was no affair of his ; 
he must obey the instructions he had received. The 
case excited a good deal of interest. Many of the 
Dutch residents shook their heads when they heard 
of it, and said, " The English are in the right ; this 
system is a disgrace and a blight upon our island." 
All the day preceding the auction, Jan lay moan- 
ing at the grave of his mistress. All night he 
wandered round, looking at the flowers in the 
moonlight. He had tended them so long they 
seemed to know him, and to nod a sorrowful fare- 
well. Sadder still it was to look upon the bamboo 
hut and its enclosure, connected with the garden 
by a little open-work gate. That bridal home, 
which his kind mistress had provided for them, and 
which was consecrated to his memory by so many 
years of humble happiness, never had it seemed so 
dear to him as now. There stood the loom, where 
he had so often seen Zaida at work. There was 
the gambang he had made for himself, the sounds, 
of which his departed master and mistress used to 
love to hear mingled with their voices, softened by 
the evening air on which they floated across the 
garden. There hung the old guitar she had given 
him in boyhood ; and by its side was the violin, a 
parting present from the young Englishman. Even 
if he was allowed to retain these, would they ever 
sound again, as they had sounded there ? As the 
dawning light revealed each familiar object, a 
stifling pain swelled more and more within his 


heart. When he saw his children eating what 
would, perhaps, be their last breakfast together, 
every gourd shell that contained their little mess of 
rice seemed more valuable, in his eyes, than crown 
jewels to a dethroned monarch. Overcome with 
the struggle, he laid himself down on the mat 
and sobbed. Zaida, always hopeful, had borne up 
tolerably well till now; but now she yielded to 
despair, and rocked backward and forward vio- 
lently, groaning aloud. Eight children, the oldest 
a lad of fourteen, the youngest a girl of three years 
old, sat on the floor weeping, or hiding their heads 
in their mother's lap. Thus they were found by 
the man who came to take them to the auction at 
Gresik. Poor Jan ! how often, in the latter years, 
had vague presentiments of this flitted across his 
mind, when he passed that dreadful place ! He too 
well remembered the heartless jokes and the fa- 
miliar handling, which had made him shrink from 
the possibility of such a fate for his wife and chil- 
dren. Zaida, indeed, was no longer an object of 
jealousy for any cruel master's wife. She was not 
hideously ugly, like most slaves of her age, in that 
withering climate ; but her girlish beauty had all 
departed, except a ghost of it still lingering in her 
large dark eyes. Their light was no longer mirth- 
ful, but they were still beautiful in colour, and ex- 
pressed, as it were, the faint echo of a laugh, in 
their peculiar outline and long curling lashes. By 
her side stood a daughter, twelve years old, quite 


as handsome as she was at that age ; and another, 
of ten, with her father's gazelle eyes, and the golden 
yellow complexion, which Javanese poets are ac- 
customed to praise as the perfection of loveliness. 
The wretched aspect of the father and mother struck 
all beholders. When Jan mounted the stand, he 
cast one despairing glance around him, and lingered 
longest on the smallest lamb of his flock, who was 
crying with terror, and clinging fast to her mother's 
skirts. He tossed his arms wildly upward, gave 
one loud groan, then bowed his head and wept in 
silence. Poor Zaida hid her face on his shoulder, and 
the whole group trembled like leaves in a storm. 
The auctioneer called out, " Here's a valuable lot, 
gentlemen. Eight healthy, good-looking children. 
The father and mother still young enough to do a 
good deal of work, and both of excellent character. 
Whoever will bid six thousand florins [$2,333] for^ 
them may have them ; and it will be a great bargain." 
It was no comfort to the poor victims to be offered 
in a lot ; for they might be bought by speculators, 
who would separate them. Jan listened, with all his 
soul in his ears. Not a voice was heard. The auc- 
tioneer waited a moment before he called out, " Will 
you say four thousand florins, gentlemen ?" No one 
spoke. " Shall I have two thousand florins ? That 
is really too cheap." Still all remained silent. 

Jan had never forgotten that his master had said 
the law allowed slaves to buy themselves. His 
poverty had hitherto prevented his deriving any 


consolation from that thought. But now a ray of 
hope darted through his soul. He raised his droop- 
ing head suddenly, and a gleam, like the rising sun, 
passed over his pale, haggard countenance, as he 
said, eagerly, " I will give a golden ducat." Then, 
dropping on his knees, he exclaimed, in imploring 
tones, which intense emotion rendered thrilling, 
"Oh, gentlemen, dorit bid over me. It is all I 
have in the world. Oh, good gentlemen, don't bid 
over me!" Tears dropped from the eyes of many 
young people ; the agent swallowed hard ; and even 
the auctioneer was conscious of a choking feeling in 
his throat. There was deep silence for a while. 
The interval was very brief ; but to Jan's anxious 
heart it seemed long enough for the world to re- 
volve on its axis. At last, the sound of the heavy 
hammer was heard, followed by these words : "The 
whole lot is going for a ducat. [$2 20 cents.] 
Going ! going ! gone] to Jan Van der Veen !" 

It was one of humanity's inspired moments; 
when men are raised above the base influences of 
this earth, and see things as Spirits see them in the 
light of heaven. Hats, turbans, and handkerchiefs 
waved, and a cheerful "hurra!" met the ears of 
the redeemed captives. Jan belonged to himself, 
and owned all his family ! Verily, the blessing of 
heaven did go with the "Englishman's golden ducat, 
to a degree far beyond what he dreamed of when 
he gave it. Jan could hardly credit his own senses. 
The reaction from despair to such overwhelming 


joy was too much for him. His brain was dizzy, 
and his limbs trembled. When he tried to rise, he 
tottered, and would have fallen, if Zaida had not 
caught him in her arms. "Poor fellow! poor 
fellow I" murmured some of the spectators. A man 
took off his hat, dropped a florin into it, and passing 
it round, said, " Give him a trifle, gentlemen, to set 
himself up with. He has always been a good, in- 
dustrious fellow, and his mistress meant to provide 
for him. Give him a trifle, gentlemen !" There was 
a noise of falling coin. Zaida pulled her husband 
by the sleeve, and whispered in his ear, "Thank 
the gentlemen." He seemed like one half awake ; 
but he made an effort, and said, " Thank you, good 

gentlemen ! May God bless you and your " 

He would have added children ; but his eye hap- 
pened to rest on his own smallest darling, and the 
thought that nobody could take her from him now 
choaked his utterance. He covered his face with 
his thin hands, and wept. 

"Was the golden ducat all that poor despairing 
slave owed to the good Englishman ? No ; that 
was the smallest part of the debt ; for to the moral 
influence of his conversation, and the books and 
papers he scattered in the neighbourhood, might 
mainly be attributed the changing public sentiment, 
which rendered the crowd silent at that mournful 
scene, and thus enabled the auctioneer to exclaim, 
"The whole lot going for a ducat! Going! gone! 
to Jan Van der Yeen ! Hurra 1" 




Glorious flower ! so gorgeously bright ! 
As if thou wert funned of orient light! 
In topaz, and gold, and velvet array, 
Like an Eastern Queen on her bridal day ! 
Rich jewels the Sun to the Earth dropped down, 
And the Earth gave him back thy floral crown. 

Thy tints, glowing warm as a summer noon, 

Seem painted tones from some amorous tune; 

And surely thy varying flushes came 

From Italian music's radiant flame; 

Or, when Apollo touched his golden lyre, 

Earth answered the sounds with thy brilliant fire. 

Thy ardent blossoms were at first unfurled, 
A love-letter written to all the world; 
.And not by day only, but even by night, 
The writing shines through with phosphoric light. 
That letter of love the Tropics sent forth, 
Sealed full of sunshine, a gift to the North. 

Bright Summer is proud thy garland to wear ; 
It shines like rich 'gems in Autumn's pale hair ; 
And it warms our homes with a sunny glow, 
When earth has assumed her mantle of snow. 
Wealth of bright beauty hast thou for thy dower, 
Resplendent, warm-hearted, tropical flower ! 



Thou, while listening with thy inward ear, 

The ocean of eternity didst hear, 

Along its coming waves ; and thou didst see 

Its spiritual waters, as they rolled through thee ; 

Nor toiled, in hard abstractions of the brain, 

Some guess of immortality to gain ; 

For far-sought truths within thy soul did rise, 

Informing visions to thine inward eyes. 

R. H. Dana. 

Many centuries ago, a child named Hermotimus 
was born in the genial climate of Ionia. From in- 
fancy, his hold on material life seemed exceedingly 
slight. He was a delicate, frail blossom ; 

" By living rays refined, 
A trembler of the wind ; 
A spiritual flower 
Sentient of breeze and shower." 

But the slender thread that bound him to this 
mortal existence did not break. The babe crawled 


from his cradle and toddled into the fields, where 
he would sit motionless for hours, b y the side of 

some flower he loved. A grave smile would illu- 
mine his countenance if a butterfly rested on it, or 
a passing bird brushed it with her wing. He al- 
ways expected to see the flower fly, too ; and there- 
fore he watched it so patiently, as it swayed under 
their light pressure. In very early childhood, he 
was remarkable for the keenness of his senses and 
the vividness of his dreams. He heard distant 
sounds, inaudible even to the quick ear of his play- 
mate the hound ; and the perfume of a rose made 
him faint, before he was old enough to explain why 
he turned so pale. At vintage time, when proces- 
sions in honor of Bacchus passed through the village, 
his mother dared not take him to the show, where 
all other children were dancing and capering ; for 
once, when she carried him with her to the rustic 
festival, he fell into violent fits at the sound of the 
shrill pipes and the clashing cymbals. His dreams 
furnished a theme for all the gossips of the neigh- 
borhood ; for the scenes he witnessed in sleep im- 
pressed themselves on his mind with such singular 
distinctness, that nothing could persuade the child 
he had not actually seen them. Sometimes, when 
they gave him his little bowl of goafs milk for 
supper, he would cry for the lamb with beautiful 
rose-coloured wool, that had eaten a portion of his 
milk the night before ; and it was quite useless to 
try to persuade him that there was no such creature 


as a rose-coloured lamb. To all their assertions, he 
would answer, with lively pertinacity, " I did see 
him ! I did see him ; and he did drink from my 
bowl." As he grew older, he sometimes hummed 
snatches of tunes, which he said were sung to him 
by maidens in white robes, with garlands about 
their heads ; and the melodies were unlike any 
known in the neighbourhood. Several times, as he 
walked along the road, he started suddenly at the 
approach of a stranger, and ran away shuddering. 
When his companions asked why he did so, he 
would answer, " Ah, that was a very bad man. He 
made me feel all over cold." 

It was no wonder that the simple villagers became 
superstitious concerning such a singular child. 
Some remembered that, before he was born, his 
mother had carried offerings into a consecrated 
grotto, where stood a statue of Apollo ; and that, 
being overcome by the warmth of the day, she had 
fallen asleep there. This gave rise to the story that 
in her dreams she had heard the god playing upon 
his golden lyre ; that the divine sounds had per- 
vaded her whole being, and endowed her child with 
Apollo's gift of prophecy. Others declared that 
the altar in the sacred grotto had for several years 
been loaded with her devout offerings, and that she 
had been heard to say the statue sometimes smiled 
upon her. Such tokens of approbation from 
celestial beings were by no means deemed incred- 
ible ; but they implied that the worshipper was a 


favourite with the deity she served. From this be 
lief it was easy to infer that the extraordinary child, 
who saw and heard things invisible and inaudible 
to other mortals, might be a veritable son of Apollo. 
Some old crones shook their heads mournfully, and 
said children who received peculiar endowments 
from the gods generally died young. 

But the little Hermotimus wandered about with 
his father's shepherds, and was gradually invigor- 
ated by air and exercise. He no longer fainted at 
perfumes, or shared his supper with rose-coloured 
lambs. His mother still noticed a peculiar dream- 
iness in the expression of his eyes, and when he was 
alone, she sometimes heard him singing melodies, 
which came to him from some 'mysterious source. 
She kept her thoughts in the privacy of her own 
heart, but she retained her belief that his remark- 
able boyhood was the forerunner of something ex- 
traordinary in manhood. "With his improving 
health, the gossip of the neighbourhood gradually 
subsided, and was only occasionally revived by 
some eccentricities in his manners. The change 
pleased his father well ; for he wanted a son to aid 
him in the acquisition of wealth, and had no desire 
to see him become either poet or prophet. He 
charged his wife never to talk to him about his 
childish dreams, and he was annoyed by any allu- 
sions to her sleep in Apollo's grotto. Of course, 
the lad was aware that things had been said of him, 
which his mother believed, and his father disliked 


to have mentioned. This mystery made him think 
more about himself, than he would otherwise have 
done, and increased his tendency to lonely wander- 
ings and profound reveries. His father did his ut- 
most to allure him to convivial meetings with young 
people ; saying to himself that a sharp shot from 
Cupid's bow was the best thing to wake him up 
thoroughly. But the timid youth scarcely ventured 
to raise his eyes in the presence of maidens, and 
appeared to take even less notice of their charms, 
than he did of flowers and birds, and other beauti- 
ful things. His father thought that a mate as un- 
like himself as possible would be most likely to 
counteract his peculiar tendencies. He therefore 
selected Praxinoe, a buxom merry -hearted lass, who 
was so healthy, she never had but one dream she 
remembered in the whole course of her life ; and 
that was of being at a vintage festival, where she 
pelted the young men with clusters of grapes, till 
the wine ran down their chins and made her wake 
with laughing. Certainly, she would have chosen 
quite another sort of mate, than Hermotimus with 
his soft voice and dreamy eyes. But it was the 
belief in those days, and it has kept its ground 
pretty well ever since, that women have no right 
to an opinion of their own. So the parents ar- 
ranged the affair between them, and the passive 
young couple were married. 

Praxinoe was energetic and ambitious. She 
prided herself on the excellent cheeses she made, 


and the quantity of grapes she dried for the market. 
She was always talking of these, and Hermotimus 
tried to listen patiently, though she unconsciously 
tormented him to a greater degree than ever his 
thrifty father had done. Sometimes he even praised 
her industry, and smiled, in his absent sort of way ; 
for he had a kind of pleasure in the company of his 
pretty young bride, as he had in the presence of a 
lively twittering bird. Had a modern caricaturist 
made a picture of their wedded life, he would have 
painted it as the marriage of a solemn young owl 
with a chattering wren. Hermotimus was often 
bewildered by her volubility, and her incessant ac- 
tivity sometimes made him feel weary, as if he had 
himself been hard at work. He loved to sit for 
hours in silent thought, meditating on the nature 
of the soul ; revolving in his mind whether the 
gods ever did unite themselves with mortals ; and 
whether those philosophers had spoken truly, who 
had affirmed that there was something divine with- 
in the body, which would lay aside its temporary- 
garment of flesh, resume its native wings, and re- 
turn to a celestial home, to dwell among immortals. 
While his thoughts were plunged in such profound 
meditations, it not unfrequently happened that 
Praxinoe came to inquire whether he remembered 
how many cheeses she had sent to market, or how 
many bushels of grapes were in readiness ; and if 
he forgot the number she had told him, as he gen- 
erally did, her cheerful temper became over-clouded 


with consciousness that the energy and industry, 
on which she prided herself, were altogether unap- 
preciated. It was a hard disappointment for her to 
bear ; for she loved luxury, and was born to sun 
herself in the pleasures of this world. Hermotimus 
would have pitied her if he could ; but he never 
was in that region where she lived, and he did not 
know what people enjoyed or suffered there. 
Praxinoe had as little idea of the worlds through 
which he wandered; and the glimpses she ob- 
tained from his occasional remarks were by no 
means attractive to her. She had much less desire 
for celestial wings, than she had for fine woolens 
and glossy silks; and the shadow-land of disem- 
bodied souls presented to her mind no pleasant 
pictures of comfortable housekeeping. Her favourite 
topics of conversation were embroidered mantles, 
and robes of Tyrian dye ; and if her husband sought 
to check her, by remarking that such expensive 
articles could never be obtained by them, she an- 
swered impatiently, "Why not? People can have 
what they will. The Greeks got into Troy, didn't 
they?" Sometimes she would add, in an under- 
tone of vexation, "But they were not such Greeks 
as thou art." 

Undoubtedly, he was a vexation to an earth-born 
woman — that mild, dreamy, saintly man ! The dis- 
tance between them inevitably grew wider and 
wider ; and the process was hastened by changes 
in the condition of Hermotimus. Though he had 


become more healthy in youth, than he was in in- 
fancy, there had never been a complete union be- 
tween his soul and body. The inner and outer 
circles of his being, instead of clasping into each 
other, touched only at one point, and so remained 
nearly strangers. At the time of his marriage, he 
was believed to have outgrown the feebleness of 
his childhood, and to have lost the power of pro- 
phecy. But two years afterward, he fell asleep one 
day in the same grotto of Apollo to whieh his 
mother had been accustomed to carry offerings. 
lie came out pale and chill, and was that night 
seized with a singular kind of fits, which continued 
to attack him more and more frequently. The old 
gossip was renewed. The neighbours said his 
father, the divine Apollo, had kissed him in his 
sleep, and he would never be like other men. 
Praxinoe nursed him carefully, for she had a kind- 
ly heart. But when the fits were on him, he in- 
spired a degree of awe amounting almost to terror ; 
for his looks and words impressed her with a strong 
conviction that he was some sort of a Spirit, and 
not a mortal man. At times, he told her the most 
secret thoughts of her heart, and repeated word for 
word what had been said to her, when he was out 
of hearing. He frequently described magnificent 
cities, gorgeous birds, and beautiful flowers, she 
had never seen or heard of. But what made her 
shudder more than all else, was the familiar inter- 
course he described with relatives and friends long 


since dead. If she were alone with him, during 
these strange visitations, he never answered when 
she spoke, or gave any indication that he was aware 
of her presence. But there was one person, to 
whose questions he always replied. In the neigh- 
bouring city of Clazomense lived a Pythagorean 
philosopher, named Prytanes. He heard rumours of 
the singular childhood of Hermotimus, and of the 
extraordinary fits that had come upon him in man- 
hood; and he was desirous to ascertain how far 
these accounts had been exaggerated. When he 
made his first visit to him who was called The 
Sleeping Prophet, he found him lying upon a couch 
motionless and senseless. He took hold of his 
hand, and found it cold and rigid ; but a change 
went over the countenance, like the light which 
drives shadows across the fields ; and Hermotimus 
said, " I am glad you have come again ; for, above 
till things, I have enjoyed our pleasant walks to- 
gether in the groves, talking of the wings of the 
soul." This seemed marvellous to Prytanes; for 
never, to his knowledge, had he spoken with Her- 
motimus. But when he asked questions concern- 
ing their conversations, the sleeper revealed to him 
many thoughts, which he remembered to have 
passed through his own mind, at various times, and 
which had seemed to him, at the moment, as if they 
did not originate in himself, but had come to him 
from some unknown source ; thoughts which he in 
fact believed to have been imparted by supernal 


beings. When Prytanes returned to Clazomense, 
he gave an account of this wonderful experience, in 
public discourses to his disciples ; and the fame of 
Hermotimus spread more and more widely. Priests 
and philosophers came to listen to his conversations 
with Prytanes ; and while some went away incred- 
ulous, others were deeply impressed with awe. 
From far and near, people brought the diseased to 
him, begging him to prescribe a cure; and the 
rumour went round that sometimes, when he merely 
passed his hands over them, their pains departed. 
In these days, he would have been called a clair- 
voyant ; but what we style animal-magnetism had 
then never been mentioned ; though its phenomona 
were occasionally manifested, as they always have 
been, wherever the spiritual and physical circle of 
man's compound existence is partially disjoined. 
Scientific causes were then little investigated. 
Health, beauty, eloquence, poetry, and all other 
things, were supposed to be direct and special gifts 
from some god. No wonder then that many be- 
lieved Hermotimus to be really the son of Apollo, 
receiving the gift of healing and of prophecy from 
immediate and continual intercourse with his divine 

If the wise and thoughtful were puzzled, it may 
well be supposed that the busy little Praxinoe often 
felt as if she were walking among shadows in a fog." 
Her ambition was in some degree gratified by her 
husband's fame, and by the distinguished persons 


who came to visit him. But, in confidential con- 
versation with, her gossips, she complained that 
these numerous visitors interrupted her avocations, 
beside bringing a great deal of dust into the house, 
and asking for a draught of her fresh wine rather 
often er than was convenient. " I admire hospital- 
ity," she would say ; " and I wish I were rich 
enough to feast all Ionia, every week, and send 
each guest away with a golden bracelet. But the 
fact is, these dreams of Hermotimus, though thev 
are full of palaces and fountains, do not help in the 
least to build such things ; and he brings home no 
wine from the beautiful vineyards he describes. 
Then I can't help thinking, sometimes, that it would 
be pleasant to know for a certainty whether one's 
husband were really dead, or alive." 

One thing became daily more obvious to her and 
to all who saw him. The continual questions he 
was called upon to answer, and the distant places 
of the earth he was required to visit, exhausted the 
little bodily strength he possessed. The priests at 
the neighbouring temple of iEsculapius said he 
needed more quiet, and ought to drink a strong 
decoction of vervain, gathered when the moonlight 
rested on it. He himself, when questioned, during 
his miraculous slumbers, declared that the air of 
the valleys was not good for him. Therefore his 
friends removed him to a residence among the 
hills. Praxinoe made no objection; for though 
her spiritualized mate failed to call forth all the 


warmth of her loving nature, she had a friendly 
feeling for him, and would gladly have done any 
thing for the recovery of his health. But the 
change was by no means agreeable to her lively 
disposition. She liked to live where she could see 
festive processions passing with garlands, and gaily 
dressed youths and maidens dancing to the sound 
of cymbals and flutes. 

News from the city became more rare ; for lie r- 
motimus recovered his health, and with it lost what 
was called his gift of prophecy; consequently, 
visitors came less and less frequently. Urged b}^ 
Praxinoe, the diseased one sometimes tried to ren- 
der himself practically useful. But his heart was 
in such occupations even less than it had formerly 
been. Companionship with philosophers had ex- 
cited his intellect, and induced the habit of watch* 
ino- his own soul with intense interest. He was 


absorbed in reverie most of the time, and Prytane, 
who came occasionally to see him, was the only 
person with whom he conversed freely. Their con- 
versation was more wearisome to Praxinoe* than his 
dreamy silence. She said they might be as wise as 
owls, for all she knew to the contrary, but that she 
could see no more sense in their talk, than she did 
in the hooting of those solemn birds of darkness. 
In another respect, Hermotimus seemed to her like 
an owl. His eyes became so nervously sensitive to 
light, that he winked continually in the sunshine, 
and was prone to seek the shelter of grottoes and 


shady groves. His childish, habit of vivid dreams 
returned ; and the explanation of these dreams oc- 
cupied his thoughts continually. One morning, he 
told Praxinoe he had dreamed that she held in her 
hand a crystal globe, that reflected all things in 
the universe; that she threw it into the flames, 
where it cracked asunder, and there rose from it a 
radiant Spirit, with large white wings. She laughed, 
and said if she had such a globe, she would not 
break it till she had taken a peep at Corinth, to see 
the embroidered silks and golden girdles that the 
women wore there. He was thinking of the winged 
Spirit, and her remark passed through his ears with- 
out reaching his mind. Had he listened to the ob- 
servation, it would have seemed to him very much 
like looking through the universe to watch a butter- 
fly. Nothing was interesting to him but the pro- 
cess of attaining wings to his soul. He thought of 
this, till the body seemed an encumbrance, and its 
necessities a sin. He ate sparingly at all times, and 
fasted often. When he spoke at all, his talk was 
ever of mortifying the senses, that the soul might 
be enabled to rise to the ethereal spheres from which 
it had fallen into this world. Praxinoe was impa- 
tient with such discourse. " To think of his talk- 
ing of mortifying the senses !" exclaimed she ; 
" when he never had any senses to mortify. Why, 
never since I knew him has he eaten enough to 
keep a nightingale alive. For my part, I think it 



is a blessing to have plenty of good food, and an 
excellent appetite for it." 

In her present situation, she was not sustained 
through her trials, as she nad been near ClazomenaB, 
by the reverence which her husband inspired. Their 
dwelling was isolated, and in the nearest village 
were many scoffers and skeptics. She had formed 
an intimacy with a wealthy dame, named Euco- 
line; and from her she learned that people said 
Hermotimus neglected to provide for his family, > 
because he was too indolent to work ; that he in- 
jured his health by frequent fasts, and made him- 
self crazy with thinking, merely for the sake of 
being stared at by the common people ; and as for 
his pretended visions and prophecies, they were 
undoubtedly impositions. Praxinoe, who habitual- 
ly looked outward for her standard of thought and 
action, was much influenced by these remarks. 
She had sometimes wept in secret over her cheer- 
less destiny ; but discontent had been restrained 
by a reverent sense of being connected with some 
solemn mystery, which others respected. Now, she 
began to doubt whether the eccentricities she daily 
witnessed might not be assumed, from the motives 
imputed by their neighbours. This tendency was 
increased by the influence of Eratus, the gay, lux- 
urious husband of Eucoline. He professed to be a 
disciple of Epicurus, but he was one of those who 
had perverted the original doctrines of that teacher; 
for while he thought happiness was the only good, 


lie believed there was no enjoyment higher than 
that of the senses. To his volatile mind all things 
in life afforded subjects for jest and laughter. If 
he met Praxinoe, on her way to his wife's apart- 
ments, he would say, " How is the good Hermo- 
timus, to-day ? Has he gone to talk with the gods, 
and thrown his body on the couch till he returns ?" 
These sneers were not pleasant ; and the habit of 
comparing her situation with that of Eucoline in- 
creased her discontent. The handsome and healthy 
Eratus was growing richer every day by his own 
energy and enterprise. " Such robes as he buys 
for his wife !" said she to herself, " I can make 
better wine than she can ; I can weave handsomer 
cloth ; and I think the gods have endowed me with 
more beauty ; but I can never hope to wear such 
robes. Ah, if my good Hermotimus were only 
more alive !" 

This involuntary comparison did no great harm, 
until her friend Eucoline chanced to die suddenly. 
Then the idea came into her head, "If I could 
marry Eratus, what a noble span we should make ! 
We might ride in our own chariot, inlaid with 
ivory and gold. Perhaps it may happen some day, 
Who knows ? Didn't the Greeks get into Troy ?" 
She tried to drive away the pleasing vision, but it 
would intrude itself; and worse still, the handsome 
Eratus often came in person to bring choice grapes 
and figs, in the prettiest of all imaginable vases and 
baskets. He was always friendly with Hermo- 


timus; and if his body had wandered away, car- 
ried by the soul, which was so generally absent 
from this material world, the Epicurean would in- 
quire, in this jocular way, "Where is the good 
Hermotimus, pretty one ? Has he gone off to con- 
verse with the gods ? If Yenus had given me such a 
beautiful companion at home, all Olympus wouldn't 
tempt me away from her." The gay, graceful, 
flattering man ! He was a dangerous contrast to 
her pale silent husband, hiding himself in groves 
and grottoes, thinking only of obtaining wings for 
his soul. Eratus was conscious. of his power, and 
betrayed it by expressive glances from his large 
dark eyes. Sparks fell from them into the heart 
of the neglected wife, and kindled a fire there 
which glowed through her cheeks. Her eyelids 
drooped under Ins ardent gaze, and she avoided 
looking at him when he spoke ; but she could not 
shut out the melting tenderness of his tones. It 
was a hard trial to poor Praxinoe. Her nature had 
such tropical exuberance ! She was born with such 
love of splendour, such capacity for joy ! and the 
cruel Fates had cast her destiny in such cold and 
shady places ! Her pride had sometimes been an 
evil companion, but it now proved a friend in need. 
If she could not be the wife of Eratus, she resolved 
not to give Cupid any more opportunities to shoot 
arrows from his eyes, or play amorous tunes with 
his musical voice. When she saw the flatterer ap- 
proaching, she retreated hastily and left an old ser- 


vant to receive him, and thank him for the grapes 
he had brought for Hermotimus. Eratus smiled at 
the veil she thus endeavoured to throw over his at- 
tentions ; and to deprive her of the subterfuge, he 
sent her a golden bracelet and ear-rings, for which 
she could not thank him in the name of her hus- 
band. She returned the costly gift, though affec- 
tion, vanity, and love of elegance strongly tempted 
her to retain it. She was a brave woman. The 
prudes in the neighbourhood, who were accustomed 
to shake their heads and say she laughed and 
talked more than was consistent with decorum, 
never knew half how brave she was. 

This prudent reserve of course rendered her 
more interesting to the enamored widower. The 
more he thought of her, the more he was vexed 
that such a vivacious creature, with mantling com- 
plexion, laughing eyes, and springing step, should be 
appropriated by a pale devotee, who took no notice 
of her charms, and who in fact despised even the 
most beautiful body, regarding it merely as a prison 
for the soul. At last, he plainly expressed a wish 
to marry her ; and he proposed to ask Hermotimus 
to divorce her for that purpose, which the laws of 
the country enabled him to do. Praxinoe, with 
bashful frankness, confessed her willingness, and 
said she did not think Hermotimus would observe 
whether she were present or absent. "If he un- 
derstands my proposition," replied Eratus, laugh- 
ing, " he will give me a grave lecture, and tell me 


how the wings of his soul are growing, by with 
drawing from all the pleasures of this world. Let 
them grow I" 

The sudden and alarming illness of Hermotimus 
arrested the progress of affairs ; for the kindness of 
Praxinoe overcame all other feelings, and she said 
she would not leave him to the care of hirelings. 
He recovered slowly, and again wandered forth 
into the groves, with feeble steps. Eratus watched 
him impatiently ; and when at last he seemed suffi- 
ciently recovered to enter into conversation, he 
sought an interview. He found him lying on the 
ground, in one of his favourite groves, cold and rigid 
as a corpse. He called servants to convey him to 
the house. Praxinoe manifested no surprise. She 
said she had not seen him in such a state for two 
years, but that in former times he would often lie 
senseless for a long time, and then wake up to tell 
of wonderful countries he had visited. Day passed 
after day, and he did not wake. The disciples of 
skeptical philosophers came and looked at him, and 
went away laughing with each other about the 
stories they had heard of his former visions, pro- 
phecies, and miraculous cures. They concluded 
their remarks by saying, " It can do no harm to 
burn his body, whether he is dead or not. The 
soul he had so much faith in was always longing 
to get out of prison. It would be conferring a 
favour upon him to give him a chance to try his 


The parents of Hermotimus were dead. Eratus 
summoned priests of iEculapius, who decidedly- 
pronounced his slumber the sleep of death; and 
the relatives of Praxinoe sympathized with his im- 
patience for the funeral. But she continued to 
doubt, and insisted upon first sending for the Py- 
thagorean philosopher, whom Hermotimus had al- 
ways answered, when he was in those strange 
trances. The messenger returned with tidings that 
he had gone to Athens. The funeral-pile was 
erected, and the good-hearted widow wept to find 
that the certainty of his death was such a relief to 
her mind. This consciousness was the more un- 
pleasant to her, because she said to herself, "If he 
is in one of those trances, he knows all I am think- 
ing." When they lifted him from the couch where 
he had lain so still, she shuddered violently, and 
exclaimed, "Surely he is not quite so pale as he 
was !" But they reasoned with her, and said, " He 
looks just as he has for the last three days." She 
saw his body placed on the funeral-pile, and when 
the flames began to curl round it, she listened to 
hear if there were any audible signs of life. But 
all was still, save the crackling of the wood; and 
in a short time, a heap of ashes was all that re- 

That night, she dreamed that she held a crystal 
globe in her hands, and threw it from her into the 
flames. The globe cracked, and a radiant Spirit, 
with white wings, rose from it and soared high into 


the air. He smiled as he passed her, and said, "I 
foretold this. 7 ' The countenance looked as that of 
Ilcrmotimus had sometimes looked in his tran< 
when he told his friend Prytanes that he was listen- 
ing to white-robed maidens, who played on golden 
harps ; but though similar in expression, it was far 
more glorious. Did memory cause that dream? 
Or was it imparted from some other source, beyond 
herself? She woke trembling and afraid, and with 
a strong impression that she had seen Hermotimus. 
This belief excited uneasy thoughts, which she 
dared not mention, for fear of slanderous tongues. 
But she secretly confessed to Eratus that she feared 
her husband was not dead when they burned his 
body. He replied, "It is foolish to trouble your- 
self about a dream, my lovely one. It is enough 
that all who saw him thought he was dead. You 
know it often puzzled wiser folks than you or I to 
tell whether he was alive or not. "Whatever phan- 
tom it was that sailed through the ivory gate of 
dreams, he smiled and seemed happy. Then why 
be disturbed about it? Life was given for enjoy- 
ment, dearest." He laughed and began to sing, 
"I'll crown my love with myrtle;" and his looks 
and tones drove all phantoms from her thoughts. 

She soon became his wife, and her ambitious 
hopes were more than realized. Eratus placed a 
high value on w T orldly possessions, and knew very 
well how to obtain them. She never had occasion 
to remind him that the Greeks entered Troy. 


But where there is sunshine, there is always 
shadow. Her prosperity excited envy; which 
some manifested by saying, " If every body could 
burn a poor husband for the sake of marrying a 
rich one, other folks could wear silk mantles, too." 
Eemarks of that kind reached the ears of many 
who were firm believers in the inspiration of The 
Sleeping Prophet. They made anxious inquiries 
concerning the manner of his death ; to which cer- 
tain envious women answered: "Praxinoe was 
always a very good neighbour. We have nothing 
to say against her; though some people thought 
she was rather free, and not a little vain. The old 
nurse says Eratus was always sending her presents, 
long before her husband died ; and some people do 
think it was very obliging in poor Hermotimus to 
die, just when he was so much wanted out of the 
way." These whisperings soon grew into a report 
that the rich Epicurean had bribed the priests of 
^Esculapius to pronounce the slumberer a dead man. 
Of course, some persons were good-natured enough 
to repeat these rumours to the parties implicated. 
Finding their solemn assertions of innocence re- 
ceived with significant silence, or annoying inuen- 
does, they resolved to remove from the neighbour- 
hood. Praxinoe had always greatly desired to see 
Corinth ; and to please her, Eratus chose it for their 
future residence. In that gay luxurious city, her 
love of splendour was abundantly gratified with 
pompous processions and showy equipage. Her 
25 t 


beauty attracted attention whenever she "was seen 
in public, and her husband took pride in adorning 
her with rich embroidery and costly jewels. In 
such an atmosphere, the wings of her soul had 
small chance to grow ; but that subject never oc- 
cupied her thoughts. 

It was generally believed in Clazomenae and its 
vicinity that Hermotimus was not dead when his 
emaciated body was consumed on the funeral-pile. 
This idea occasioned a good deal of excitement 
among those who had been cured of diseases by his 
directions, or startled to hear their inmost thoughts 
revealed. His frequent conversations with spirits 
of the departed had strongly -impressed them with 
the belief that some god spoke through him, while 
his senses were wrapped in profound slumber ; and 
no skeptical witticisms or arguments could diminish 
their faith in the prophet. They erected a temple 
to his memory, where they placed his ashes in a 
golden urn; and because his wife had consented 
that his body should be burned, while his soul was 
absent on one of its customary visits to the gods, 
they never allowed any woman to enter within the 
consecrated precincts. 




Not in another world, as poets prate, 

Dwell we apart, above the tide of things, 

High floating o'er earth's clouds on fairy wings ; 

But our pure love doth ever elevate 

Into a holy bond of brotherhood, 

All earthly things, making them pure and good. 

J. R. Lowell. 

Oke of the most wonderful things connected 
with the mysterious soul-power, with which we 
limited mortals are endowed, is the capacity to rise 
into the infinite from the smallest earth-particle of 
the finite. How often some circumstance, trifling 
as the motions of a butterly, plunges us into a pro- 
found reverie ! How often, from the smallest and 
lowliest germ, are thoughts evolved, which go re- 
volving round in ascending circles, forming a spiral 
ladder, ascending from earth to heaven ! 

A pair of white-breasted swallows that built a 
nest in a little bird-box near my chamber- window, 
sent my soul floating dreamily upward, till it lost 
its way in wide ethereal regions. The mother-bird 
was a lively little thing, making a deal of musical 


twittering at her work, and often coquetting grace- 
fully with her mate. I took an affectionate interest 
in her proceedings, though I had private suspicions 
that she was something of a female gossip, in her 
small way ; for I observed that she watched the 
motions of other birds with inquisitive curiosity, 
and often stood at her front- door, prattling with 
them as they passed by. But they seemed to take 
it all in good part, and it was no concern of mine. 
I loved the pretty little creature, gossip or no gos- 
sip ; and, for many days, my first waking thought 
was to jump up and take a peep at her. Though 
I rose before the sun, I always found her awake 
and active, chattering with her mate, or carrying 
straws and feathers into her dwelling, to make a 
bed for their little ones. I should have been half 
ashamed to have had any very wise person over- 
hear the things I said to her. She had such 
"peert," knowing ways, that I could not remem- 
ber her inability to understand human speech. It 
always seemed to me that she must be aware of my 
sympathy, and that she rejoiced in it. 

One bright morning, when I looked out to salute 
her as usual, I was filled with dismay to see a grisly 
cat seated on the bird-box, peeping into the door 
with eager eyes. She had descended from the roof, 
and was watching for a chance to devour the in- 
mates of that happy little dwelling. I always had 
an antipathy to the stealthy and cruel habits of the 
feline race ; but I think I never detested any crea- 


ture as I did that cat, for a few minutes. The wish 
to do her harm, was, however, easily conquered by 
the reflection that she was obeying a natural in- 
stinct, as the bird was in catching insects ; but I 
resolved that neither my dear little Lady Swallow 
nor her babes should furnish a repast for her vora- 
cious j aws. So I climbed a ladder, and took down the 
box, which contained a nest, with two pretty little 
white eggs. I was distressed with the idea that the 
hateful cat might have destroyed my favourites be- 
fore I perceived their danger ; but my anxiety was 
soon relieved by their approach. They circled 
round and round the well-known spot, peered 
about in every direction, perched on the platform 
where their home had stood, and chattered together 
with unusual volubility. Again and again they 
returned, bringing other birds with them, and re- 
peating the same motions. They were evidently 
as much astonished, as we should be to wake up 
in the morning and find that an earthquake had 
swallowed a neighbour's house during the night. 
Whether there were scientific swallows among them, 
that tried to frame satisfactory theories in explana- 
tion of the phenomenon, or whether any feathered 
clericals taught them to submit to the event as a 
special providence, we can never know. The natu- 
ral presumption is, that they will always wonder, 
to the end of their days, what mysterious agency 
it could have been that so suddenly removed their 
nest, house and all. As for conjecturing why it 


was done, the mere query was probably beyond 
the range of their mental powers. 

I was watching them all the time, but their bird 
eyes could not see me, and their bird-nerves con 
veyed no magnetic intimation of my close vicinity. 
Their surprise and their trouble were partially re- 
vealed to me by their motions and their utterance ; 
but, though they were intelligent swallows, they 
could form no idea of such a fact. I had removed 
their dwelling to save their lives; but between 
their plane of existence and my own there was 
such an impassable chasm, that no explanation of 
my kindness and foresight could possibly be con- 
veyed to them. 

I thought of all this, and longed in vain to en- 
lighten their ignorance, and relieve their perplexity. 
The earnestness of my wish, and the impossibility 
of accomplishing it, suggested a train of thought. 
I said to myself, perhaps some invisible beings are 
now observing me, as I am observing these swal- 
lows ; but I cannot perceive them, because the laws 
of their existence are too far removed from my own. 
Perhaps they take a friendly interest in my affairs, 
and would gladly communicate with me, if I were 
so constituted that I could understand their ideas, 
or their mode of utterance. These cogitations re- 
called to my mind some remarks by the old English 
writer, Soame Jenyns. In his " Disquisition on the 
Chain of Universal Being," he says : " The supe- 
riority of man to that of other terrestial animals is 


as inconsiderable, in proportion to the immense 
plan of universal existence, as the difference of 
climate between the north and south end of the 
paper I now write upon, with regard to the heat 
and distance of the sun. There is nothing leads us 
into so many errors concerning the works and de- 
signs of Providence, as the foolish vanity that can 
persuade such insignificant creatures that all things 
were made for their service ; from whence they 
ridiculously set up utility to themselves as the stand- 
ard of good, and conclude every thing to be evil, 
which appears injurious to them or their purposes. 
As well might a nest of ants imagine this globe of 
earth created only for them to cast up into hillocks, 
and clothed with grain and herbage for their sus- 
tenance ; then accuse their Creator for permitting 
spades to destroy them, and ploughs to lay waste 
their habitations. They feel the inconveniences, 
but are utterly unable to comprehend their uses, as 
well as the relations they themselves bear to supe- 
rior beings. 

"When philosophers have seen that the happiness 
of inferior creatures is dependent on our wills, it is 
surprising none of them should have concluded 
that the good order and well-being of the universe 
might require that our happiness should be as de- 
pendent on the wills of superior beings, who are 
accountable, like ourselves, to one common Lord 
and Father of all things. This is the more wonder- 
ful, because the existence and influence of such 


beings has been an article in the creed of all relig- 
ions that have ever appeared in the world. In the 
beautiful system of the Pagan theology, their sylvan 
and household deities, their nymphs, satyrs, and 
fawns, were of this kind. All the barbarous na- 
tions that have ever been discovered, have been 
found to believe in, and adore, intermediate spir- 
itual beings, both good and evil. The Jewish re- 
ligion not only confirms the belief of their exis- 
tence, but of their tempting, deceiving, and tor- 
menting mankind ; and the whole S}'stem of Chris- 
tianity is erected entirely on this foundation." 

Dr. Johnson wrote a satirical review of Soame 
Jenyns, which had great popularity at the time. 
He passes without notice the fact that men of all 
ages, and of all religions, have believed that mali- 
cious Spirits cause diseases, and tempt men, in 
many ways, to their destruction ; while benevolent 
Spirits cure physical and mental evils, forewarn 
men in dreams, and assist them in various emergen' 
cies. There was, therefore, nothing very new or 
peculiar in the suggestion of Mr. Jenyns ; but Dr. 
Johnson, in his rough way, caricatures it thus: 
" He imagines that as we have animals not only for 
food, but some for our diversion, the same privilege 
may be allowed to beings above us, who may de- 
ceive, torment, or destroy us, for the ends only of 
their own pleasure or utility. He might have car- 
ried the analogy further, much to the advantage of 
his argument. He might have shown that these 


hunters, whose game is man, have many sports 
analogous to our own. As we drown whelps and 
kittens, they amuse themselves now and then with 
sinking a ship ; and they stand round the fields of 
Blenheim, or the walls of Prague, as we encircle a 
cock- pit. As we shoot a bird flying, they knock a 
man down with apoplexy, in the midst of bis busi- 
ness or pleasure. Perhaps some of them are virtu- 
osi, and delight in the operations of an asthma, as 
human philosophers do in the effects of an air-pump. 
Many a merry bout have these frolic beings at the 
vicissitudes of an ague ; and good sport it is to see 
a man tumble with an epilepsy, and revive and 
tumble again; and all this he knows not why. 
Perhaps now and then a merry being may place 
himself in such a situation as to enjoy at once all the 
varieties of an epidemic disease, or amuse his leisure 
with the tossings and contotrions of every possible 
pain exhibited together." 

It occurred to me what bearish paws the old 
Doctor, in his gruff sport, would lay upon modern 
Spiritualists, if he were about in these clays. T 
smiled to think what an inexhaustible theme for 
skeptical wit was afforded by the awkward and tedi- 
ous process of communication employed. But after 
a little reflection, I said to myself, is not the common 
action of Spirit upon Matter, while we are here in 
the body, quite as inexplicable ? If we were not 
accustomed to it, would it not seem nearly as incon- 
venient and laborious ? The Spirit which dwells 


within me, (I know not where, or how,) wishes to 
communicate with a Spirit dwelling in some other 
body, in another part of the world. Straightway, 
the five-pronged instrument, which we call a hand, 
is moved by Spirit, and promptly obeys the impulse. 
It dips a piece of pointed steel into a black fluid, 
and traces hieroglyphic characters invented by 
Spirit to express its thought. Those letters have 
been formed into words by slow elaboration of the 
ages. They partake of the climate where they 
grew. In Italy, they flow smoothly as water. In 
Russia, they clink and clatter like iron hoofs upon 
a pavement. It appears that Spirit must needs 
fashion its utterance according to the environment 
of Matter, in the midst of which it is placed. By a 
slow and toilsome process, the child must learn 
what ideas those words represent ; otherwise he can 
scarcely be able to communicate at all with the 
Spirits in other bodies near him. If they are dis- 
tant, and his Spirit wills to converse with them, it 
must impel the five-pronged instrument of bone and 
sinew to take up the pointed steel, and trace, on a 
substance elaborately prepared from vegetable 
fibres, certain mystic characters, which, according 
to their arrangement, express love or hatred, joy 
or sorrow. If Spirits out of the body do indeed tip 
tables and rap the alphabet, to communicate with 
Spirits in the body, it must be confessed that the 
machinery we poor mortals are obliged to employ, 


in order to communicate with each other, is nearly 
as tedious and imperfect as theirs. 

Ancient oriental philosophers, and some of the 
Gnostics at a later period, believed in a gradation 
of successive worlds, gradually diminishing in the 
force of spiritual intelligence, and consequently in 
outward beauty. They supposed that each world 
was an attenuated likeness, a sort of reflected image 
of the world above it ; that it must necessarily be 
so, because, in all its parts, it was evolved from that 
world. They believed that the inhabitants of each 
world knew of those in the world next below them, 
and were attracted toward them ; but that the world 
below was unconscious of the higher sphere whence 
it emanated. 

Swedenborg teaches that all the inferior grades 
of being in this world are representative forms of 
the spiritual state of mankind, and owe their exist- 
ence to the thoughts and feelings in human souls. 
Thus if men had no bad passions, there would be 
no lions and tigers ; and if they were inwardly pure, 
there would be no vermin. In other words, he 
teaches that the lower forms of Nature are reflected 
images of man, as the orientals taught concerning 
successive worlds ; and in this case also the higher 
is attracted toward the lower, and wishes to com- 
municate with it, while the lower remains ignorant 
of the existence of the higher. I knew something 
of the swallows, and wanted to talk with them, but 
they knew nothing of me. 


Swedcnborg teaches successive spheres of exist- 
ence, as did die orientals, though in another form. 
]le says Spirits in the sphere nearest to this earth 

are attracted towards us, and wish to communicate 
with us; but that some of them are in a low state, 
and capable of great duplicity. Many people are 
-lied with the theory that these are the Spirits 
who are believed to be rapping and tipping tables 
in all parts of the country. Certain it is, many of 
the phenomena that actually occur cannot possibly 
be the result of jugglery ; though miracles sometimes 
seem to be performed by that adroit agency. Can- 
did minds cannot, I think, avoid the conclusion that 
Spirit is acting upon Matter in some way not 
explainable by any known laws of our being. 
Whether it is Spirit in the body, or out of the body, 
seems difficult to decide. The agents, whoever they 
are, are obviously nearly on a level with our own 
spiritual condition ; for they tell nothing which had 
not been previously known or imagined ; and they 
do not always tell the truth. 

Minds of mystical tendencies find joy in believing 
that all inspirations in religion, science, or art, come 
to us from above, through the medium of minister- 
ing Spirits, who dwell in higher spheres of intelli- 
gence and love, and are attracted towards us by our 
inward state. The fast-increasing strength of evil, 
which often leads men to think the Devil drives 
them into some crime, they account for by supposing 
that the indulgence of wrong thoughts and feelings 


brings us into affinity with Spirits below us, who 
are thus enabled to influence our souls by the opera- 
tion of laws as universal and unchangeable as those 
which regulate the attraction and repulsion of mate- 
rial substances. 

Rationalists, on the other hand, deem that all 
mental influences, whether good or evil, may be 
sufficiently accounted for by the activity of the soul 
in any particular direction ; that the indulgence of 
any class of thoughts and feelings renders them con- 
tinually stronger and stronger, as the pedestrian's 
leg, or the wood-cutter's arm is invigorated by fre- 
quent use. 

All these thoughts grew out of the removal of a 
swallow's nest. They left me where they found me. 
Temperament, and early habits of thought, inclined 
me toward mystical theories ; while increasing cau- 
tion, learned by the experience of many fallacies, 
beckoned toward the less poetical side of austere 
rationality. I remained balanced between the op- 
posite forces, candidly willing to admit the claims 
of either. I could only bow my head in reverent 
humility, and say, " On these subjects we cannot cer- 
tainly know any thing, in this imperfect state of 
being. Verily, mysterious is the action of Spirit 
upon Spirit, and of Spirit upon Matter." As I 
thus dismissed the subject from my mind, a voice 
from some corner of my soul said, " The swallows 
did not know that you took away their nest, but 
you didP 



Arid unto thee, in Freedom's hour 
Of sorest need, God gives the power 

To ruin or to save, 
To wound or heal, to blight or bless, 
With fruitful soil, or wilderness, 
A free home, or a grave. 

J. Gr. "Whittier. 

" You are silent to-night, William," said Alice 
May to her lover, as they walked through a green 
lane, toward the setting sun. 

" Yes, dearest," he replied, "I have that on my 
mind which makes me thoughtful." After a pause, 
he added, " That book I was reading to you, before 
these golden-edged clouds tempted us out into the 
fields, has made a very strong impression on me. 
I never before realized how much depends on the 
state of mind we are in when we read. The story 
of our forefathers was all familiar to me ; and I al- 
ways reverenced the Puritans ; but the grandeur of 
their character never loomed up before my mental 
vision as it does now. With all their faults, they 
were a noble set of men and women." 


" And what has anointed your eyes to see this 
more clearly than ever to-night?" asked Alice. 

" All the while I was reading, I was thinking of 
John Bradford's project of going to Kansas; and, 
while we have been walking in the fields, my eyes 
have involuntarily turned away from the glorious 
sunset clouds, to glance at the neat dwellings dotted 
all over the landscape ; to the mill whirling spark- 
ling water-drops into the air ; to the school-house, 
with its broad play-ground; to the church-spire, 
gleaming brightly in the sun. All these we owe 
to those heroic pilgrims, who left comfortable homes 
in England and came to a howling wilderness to 
establish a principle of freedom ; and what they 
have done for Massachusetts, John Bradford and 
his companions may do for Kansas. It is a glo- 
rious privilege to help in laying the foundation of 
states on a basis of justice and freedom." 

" I see that John has magnetized you with his 
enthusiasm," she replied; "and he has magnetized 
cousin Kate also. How brave she is, to think of 
following him, with their little child !" 

" Kate is hopeful by temperament," said Wil- 
liam ; " but I think she is hardly more brave than 
you are. You are both afraid of a snake and a 

" I was thinking more of the long journey, the 
parting from friends, and living among strangers, 
than I was of snakes and guns," replied Alice. 
" Then everybody says there are so many discom- 


forts and hardships in a new country. And the 
Indians, William ! Only think of going within 
sound of the Indian war-whoop 1" 

" The Indians are in a very different state now," 
he replied, " from what they were when the Puritan 
women followed their husbands into the wilderness 
of this new world. They are few in numbers 
now. Their spirit has hern tamed by accumulated 
wrongs, and they are too well a ware of the power 
of the United States' government, to make any 
aggressions upon those who are under its protec- 
tion. Besides, you know it is my opinion that 
the Indians never would have made unprovoked 
aggressions. Who can read Catlin's account, with- 
out being struck with the nobility of character 
often manifested by their much-injured race? I 
am fully persuaded that it is easy to make firm 
friends of the Indians, by treating them with jus- 
tice and kindness, and with that personal respect, 
which they so well know how to appreciate." He 
pressed her arm to his side, and took her hand 
within his, as he added, " You seemed greatly to 
admire that young Puritan bride, who cheerfully 
left home and friends behind her, and crossed the 
tempestuous ocean, to brave cold and hunger by 
her husband's side, in a wilderness where wolves 
and savages were howling." 

Her hand trembled within his ; for something in 
the earnestness of his look, and the tender modu- 
lation of his tones, suddenly revealed to her what 


was passing in his mind. She knew he was 
not thinking of cousin John's wife, while he 
spoke thus of the pilgrim's bride. It was the 
first time that such a possibility had been sug- 
gested to her mind; and it made the blood run 
cold in her veins. After a painful pause, she 
said, with a forced calmness of voice, "We often 
admire virtues we are not strong enough to 

He pressed her hand, and remained silent, till an 
outburst of tears made him stop suddenly, and fold 
her to his heart. "Don't weep, my beloved," he 
said, " I will never require, or even ask, such a 
sacrifice of you. Such a delicate flower as you are 
needs to be sheltered from the blast and the storm. 
But you have conjectured rightly, dearest, that my 
heart is set upon accompanying these emigrants. 
I feel that all there is of manhood within me, will 
be developed by the exigencies of such a career. 
My character and my destiny will grow more 
grand with the responsibilities that will devolve 
upon me. If I remain here, I never shall do half 
I am capable of doing for myself and for posterity. 
To speak the plain truth, dear Alice, I have some- 
thing of the old Puritan feeling, that God calls me 
to this work. You have promised to be my wife 
within a few weeks; but I absolve you from that 
promise. If you prefer it, I will go and prepare a 
comfortable home for you in that new region, and 
endeavour to draw a circle of our mutual friends 
26* u 


around me, before I ask you to leave your New 
England borne." 

She looked up at him, through her tears, with a 
half- reproachful glance, which seemed to say, "Do 
you then suppose there can be any hardship so 
great, as separation from the one I love best in the 

He understood the mute appeal, and answered it 
by saying, "Don't be rash, dear Alice. Eeflect 
upon it till next Sunday evening, and then tell 
me what is your decision. I shall not love you 
one particle the less if you tell me that years must 
pass before you can be the partner of my life. No 
duties, no excitements, no lapse of time, can re- 
move your image from my heart." 

Few more words were spoken, as they returned 
homeward, lighted by the crescent moon. It was 
not until long after midnight that Alice fell asleep, 
to dream of standing by a wide chasm, vainly 
stretching her hand toward William, on the other 

During the following days, she asked no counsel, 
save of Glod and her mother. Her mother laid her 
hand tenderly on her head, and said, "I dare not 
advise you. Follow your own heart, my child;" 
and when she prayed to God, she seemed to hear 
an echo of those words. She saw William often, 
but she spoke no word to dissuade him from his 
purpose. Had he been going to California to dig- 
gold, she would have had much to say in favour of 


the humblest home under the protection of the old 
order-loving Commonwealth; but he had spoken so 
seriously of his sense of duty, that her womanly na- 
ture reverenced the manliness of his convictions ; 
and she prayed that his courage to dare might be 
equalled by her fortitude to endure. It rained 
heavily on Sunday evening, so that the lovers could 
not take their accustomed walk ; and the presence 
of others prevented a confidential interview. But 
when they parted at the door, Alice slipped a small 
package into William's hand. When he arrived at 
home, he opened it with nervous haste, and found 
a small Bible, with a mark within it. An anchor 
was embroidered on the mark, with the word 
Faith beneath it; and his eye was caught by 
pencil lines on the page, • encircling the words : 
"Where thou goest, I will go ; where thou lodgest, 
I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and 
thy God my God." "God bless her!" he ex- 
claimed. "Now I can go forward with an un- 
divided heart." He kissed the anchor again and 
again, and, bowing his head on his hands, he wept 
as he had not wept since boyhood. To his deep 
and earnest nature, love and duty were sacred 

Great was the joy of cousin Kate and her hus- 
band, when it was known that William Bruce had 
determined to join the band of emigrants, and that 
Alice had acquiesced. William was a young man 
of such good judgment and stedfast principles, that 


they all felt lie would be a balance-wheel in the 
machinery of any society where he moved. John 
Bradford was equally good and true, but his tern* 

perament induced more volubility of speech, and 
more eagerness of action. When the band of emi- 
grants heard of William's decision, they said laugh- 
ingly to each other, "Now we shall have both 
Moses and Aaron to guide us into Canaan. 11 K 
widowed mother, and a younger brother and sister, 
resolved to join the enterprising band. A little 
nephew of five years old was of the same mind; 
and when told that he was too small to be of any 
use, he declared himself fully able to catch a bear. 
Alice's father and mother had prospective plans of 
following their daughter, accompanied by their 
oldest son, in case those who went before them 
should send up a good report of the land. Her 
adhesive affections suffered terribly in this rupture 
of old ties. But in such natures love takes pos- 
session of the whole being. She would have sacri-' 
ficed life itself for William. All her friends knew 
it was harder for her than for others, to go into a 
strange land and enter into entirely new modes of 
existence. Therefore, they all spoke hopefully to 
her, and no one but W 7 illiam ever presented the 
clouded side of the picture to her view. He did it 
from a conscientious scruple, lest she should go for- 
ward in the enterjjrise with eyes blinded to its dif- 
ficulties. But the hardships he described in such 
tender tones, never seemed like hardships. His 


warnings were always met with the affectionate re- 
sponse, "What a proud and happy woman I shall 
be, dear "William, if I can do any thing to sustain 
you through the trials you will have to encounter." 
She never spoke desponclingly, never told the fears 
that sometimes swarmed in her imagination. If 
she could not strengthen him, she at least would 
not unnerve him, she said to herself; and as for 
cousin Kate, she would have been ashamed to ac- 
knowledge to her what a faint heart was beating 
within her bosom. Kate, who had earned her own 
living ever since she was sixteen, and assisted 
her widowed mother, and educated her younger 
brother and sister, in a manner well adapted 
to make them useful and active members of 
society, was just the woman to emigrate to the 
West. Sometimes Alice sighed, and wished she 
was more like Kate. She did not know how 
many anxious thoughts were concealed under 
her cousin's cheerful tones, her bright frank 
smile, and her energetic preparations for depar- 

Thick and fast came in the parting memorials 
from relatives and schoolmates; and what showers 
of tears fell upon them as they were stOAved away 
in the closely packed chests ! That last night at 
the old homesteads, oh, how the memories crowded 
upon those suffocated hearts! When Alice stole 
out in the moonlight, and wept, while she kissed 
the old elm, from whose boughs she had swung in 


childhood, she did not know that the roots were 
already moistened with Katie's tears. 

To the experienced and the thoughtful, all wed- 
dings are solemn occasions : for when they see the 
young unmooring their boat from its old fastenings, 
and floating away so gaily on the sun-rippled 
stream, they know full well that shadows are 
ahead, and that many a rock lies hidden under tlie 
bright waters. The marriage of William and Alice 
was solemn even to sadness ; for they were to de- 
part for Kansas on the morrow. The farewell mo- 
ment had been so dreaded for days preceding, that 
all felt as if it would be a relief to have the agony 
over. Alice clung to her parents as the drowning 
cling. The mother lifted up her voice and wept, 
and the old father choked, as he strove to say, 
''Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. God 
bless thee, my child." But cousin Katie, whose 
mission it was to strengthen everybody, came up 
and pressed their hands, and said " Good bye, dear 
uncle ; good bye, dear aunt. We'll make a beauti- 
ful home for you in Kansas ; and Willie and Ally 
will come to bring you to us." 

As thev mounted the wagons, children, who used 
to attend Mrs. Bradford's school, came up with 
bunches of violets; and the little nephew, who 
thought himself such a mighty hunter, called out, 
" send me a bear I" 

"Oh yes. Georgy," replied Kate. "Will you 
have him roasted V 


" I want to tie him up in the darden, and feed 
him," shouted George. But no one heard him. 
The wagons had rolled away before he finished the 
sentence ; and those who watched them forgot that 
any thing else existed. 

The last glimpse of Alice showed her head bowed 
down on her husband's shoulder, her waist en- 
circled by his arm. The last tones of Katie's voice 
had been strong and clear ; and no one but her 
kind-hearted John saw how the tears rained down 
on her infant's face, as they rode through their na- 
tive village. They had never fully realized, until 
now, how beautiful were the elms in the delicate 
verdure of spring ; how precious were the golden 
blossoms profusely strewn over the meadows ; how 
happy and safe the homes seemed to nestle in the 
scenery. As they passed the church, all turned 
and looked back at that place of pleasant meetings 
with relatives, friends and neighbours. 

" They will miss our voices in the choir, dear 
William," said Alice. 

" Yes," he replied ; " but, by the blessing of Grod, 
we will sing Irymns in the wilderness, and waken 
musical echoes among the silent hills." 

"And we will sing 'Home Sweet Home' toge- 
ther," said Alice, with a faint smile. 

"We'll all join in the tune," said Katie; "and 
John, who is ' up to all sort o' fixens', as the West- 
erners say, will make some new variations, on pur- 
pose for the occasion." 


Then came the bustle of depots, the whizzing of 
steam, and visions of fields and hills racing away. 
As usual, the hearts that went recovered serenity 
sooner than the hearts left behind. The new ex- 
citement of travelling waked up hope, who shoved 
memory aside for awhile, and produced from her 
portfolio a series of sketches, painted in colours more 
prismatic than Eossiter's. They talked of the ge- 
nial climate, and beautiful scenery of Kansas, and 
foretold that it would be the Italy of the western 

" I hope it will be like Italy only in its exter- 
nals," said Kate. " I trust there will be no laza- 
roni, no monks, no banditti, no despots to imprison 
men for talking about the laws that govern them." 

" Why do you want to make a new Italy of it ?" 
inquired Alice. "What better destiny can you 
wish for it, than to be like our dear New Eng- 

"Nothing better can be wished for it," rejoined 
William. " Had I not been deeply impressed with 
the conviction that the institutions, and manners, 
and consequent welfare of states, depend greatly on 
the character of first settlers, I should never have 
encouraged emigration from the old Commonwealth 
by my own example." 

" But the climate and scenery of Italy would be 
an improvement to Massachusetts," said John, " if 
we could have it without losing the active soul and 
strong muscle of New England." 


" That is it exactly, John," rejoined Katie. " We 
will have it a young New England ; but it shall be 
under sunny skies, with Italian dress." 

Several daj^s passed before the ^emigrants began 
to be much aware of the discomforts and fatigue of 
a long journey. The babies crowed, and seemed 
to think the huge machine was invented expressly 
to furnish them with a pleasanter motion than 
cradle or go-cart ; while maturer minds found 
amusement in observing the passengers that came 
and went, and pleasure in the varying scenery, as 
they were whirled along, past the thriving farms 
of New York, the tall forests of Canada, and the 
flower-dappled prairies of Illinois. But after a 
while, even the strongest became aware of aching 
bones, and the most active minds grew drowsy. 
The excessive weariness of the last days no pen 
can adequately describe. The continuous motion 
of the cars, without change of posture ; the dis- 
turbed night on board steamboats full of crying 
children ; the slow floating over Missouri waters, 
now wheeling round to avoid a snag, now motion- 
less for hours on a sand-bar, waiting for the drift- 
ing tide, while twilight settles darkly down over 
uninhabited forests, stretching away in the dim 
distance. The hurry and scramble of arriving at 
strange places, farther and farther away from 
home, and always with a dreary feeling at their 
hearts that no home awaited them. 

"If I could only make it seem as if we were 


going anywhere, I don't think I should feel so 
tired, 1 ' said Alice, with a kind of weary bewilder- 
ment in the expression of her sweet countenance. 

Worn out as Katie was, she summoned a cheer- 
ful smile, and replied, " Keep up a brave heart, 
Alice, dear. Those who are going nowhere are 
pretty sure to arrive." 

After eight days' travel, they arrived at Kansas 
City, in Missouri. There they bade adieu to cars 
and steamboats, and entered the Indian Territory, 
closely stowed away in great wagons, covered with 
sail-cloth, and furnished with rough boards for 
seats. In some places the road swept along in 
graceful curves, through miles of smooth open 
prairie, belted with noble trees, and sprinkled with 
wild flowers, as copiously as rain-drops from a 
summer shower. The charming novelty of the 
scene was greeted with a child-like outburst of 
delight from all the weary party. Even the 
quiet, home-loving Alice, clapped her hands, 
and exclaimed, "How beautiful!" without add- 
ing with a sigh, " But it isn't like dear New Eng- 

William smiled affectionately at her enthusiastic 
surprise, and said, " Virtuous and industrious peo- 
ple can build up happy homes in such solitudes as 
these, dear Alice." 

Anon, they descended into deep ravines, which 
jolted the rough boards, and knocked their heads 
together. Through these steep passes the wagons 


were jerked by patient mules, till they were 
brought into streams whose uncertain depths made 
the women and children scream ; or into creeks 
sparkling in the sunshine, whose shallow waters 
covered holes, easier to pass by leaving the wagons, 
and jumping from stone to stone. Then scram- 
bling up another steep bank, they found marks of 
wheels to indicate a road. They packed them- 
selves into the huge wagons again, with their 
baskets and babies, bread and cheese, and went 
tumbling along with bonnets knocked into cocked- 
hats, and hats that had lost all appearance of being 
wide-awake. Katie was conjecturing, now and 
then, how many bowls and plates would arrive in 
Kansas unbroken ; while Alice had a foggy idea 
that they were going nowhere; but there was a 
rainbow across the fog, because William was going 
there, too. 

Tired out in mind and body, they came at last 
to the river Wakarusa, which they crossed slowly 
at the for ding-place, and rode up a bank that 
seemed steep enough to set the wagons on end. 
This brought them into fields of grass, dotted here 
and there with small cabins. To ISTew England 
eyes it presented little resemblance to a village; 
but it was called a town, and bore the honoured 
name of Franklin. A few miles to the left, 
smoothly rounded hills rose on the horizon, ter- 
race-like, one behind the other. Between those 
beautiful hills and the thickly- wooded banks of the 


river, was the infant town of Lawrence, the des- 
tined capital of Free Kansas. 

Here the travellers rested to greet old friends, 
who had preceded them, and to form plans for the 
future. They all agreed that a more beautiful nest- 
ling place for a village had rarely been seen ; and 
really, considering it was little more than eight 
months old, it had quite a grown-up look. There 
were several neat houses, and many cabins, the ap- 
pearance of which indicated industrious inmates, 
who would rapidly increase their comforts, and en- 
large their borders. The bright river made a 
graceful curve, fringed with trees, which the skill 
of man could not have arranged so tastefully as 
nature had done. Hills rose to the horizon in grad- 
ually ascending series, their verdant slopes lighted 
up with golden sunshine. One of grander propor- 
tions than the others, called Blue Mound, was im- 
mediately singled out by Mr. Bradford as the site 
of a future Free State University ; and his equally 
active-minded wife forthwith matured the plan, by 
proposing that William Bruce should be its first 
president, and her baby become a professor of some 
'ology or other. 

" I am afraid we can't wait long enough for him" 
replied her husband, smiling. "We shall have to 
choose you lor a professor, Kate ; I, for one, will 
give you my vote." 

The rough hands of the settlers, and their coarse 
garments, soiled with prairie mud, were offensive 


to Kate's ideas of neatness, and still more so to the 
delicate tastes of Alice. But on Sundays, when 
they were dressed in their best, and met together 
to read and sing, they looked like quite different 
people. As they became more acquainted, it was 
an agreeable surprise to find so large a proportion 
of them intelligent and well educated. With a per- 
vading character of sobriety, industry and enter- 
prise, they seemed to require nothing but time, and 
a small allowance of that, to build up thriving 
towns and form a prosperous state. Certainly, the 
manner of living was rude, for many of them ate 
their dinner from boards laid across the tops of 
barrels. The labour also was hard, for there was 
much to do, and few to do it ; and, as yet, wells 
were not dug, or machinery introduced. But where 
all worked, no one felt his dignity lessened by toil. 
They had the most essential element of a prosper- 
ous state ; the respectability of labour. The next 
most important element they also had; for they 
placed a high value on education, and were willing 
to sacrifice much to secure it for their children. 
The absence of conventional forms, and the con- 
stant exercise of ingenuity, demanded by the in- 
conveniences and emergencies of a settler's life, 
have a wonderful effect in producing buoyancy and 
energy of character. The tendency to hope for 
every thing, and the will to do every thing desir- 
able to be done, were so contagious, that Alice was 


surprised to discover the amount of her hitherto 
undeveloped capabilities. 

There was a cabin for sale, built by one of the 
earliest settlers, who had died of fever. Its pic- 
turesque situation, on a rising ground overlooking 
the river, was attractive to Mr. Bradford and his 
wife, and it became their home. It consisted of 
one long room with a loft above, from which it was 
separated by a floor of loosely-laid boards. The 
long room was converted into two, by a cotton cur- 
tain running on iron rings; and the loft was di- 
vided into two apartments in the same manner. 
When those arrangements were completed, it 
afforded a temporary shelter for the two families of 
Katie and Alice, including eight persons. In the 
absence of closets, it was necessary to hang all sorts 
of articles from the boards above. A dried salt 
fish was near neighbour to a very pretty work- 
basket, and a bag of potatoes was suspended be- 
tween, a new quilt and a handsome carpet-bag. 

11 1 hope we shall soon be able to stow the salt 
fish and potatoes away somewhere," said Alice. 

" Oh, never mind!" replied Katie, laughing. 
"If Hans Christian Andersen would only come 
this way, he would make a fine story about the 
salt fish falling in love with the pretty basket, and 
becoming thinner every day, because his genteel 
neighbour preferred the carpet-bag, and took no 
pains to conceal her disgust of his vulgar appear- 
ance and disagreeable breath. She listen to the 


vows of a salt fish ? Not she ! Dicl'nt lie know 
that her handsome relative, the carpet-bag, from 
Brussels, had done as good as make proposals to 
her ? Then the poor fish would be stimulated to 
hunt up a pedigree. He might claim to have de- 
scended from Jonah's whale. He, on his part, 
might feel his dignity offended by the neighbour- 
hood of dirty potatoes. And the potatoes, like 
sturdy republicans, might tell him they did not care 
a darn for his pedigree. They should like to know 
whether he could grow ; if he could'nt, he was an 
old fogy, and the less he said the better ; for he was 
among folks that believed in growing, and did'nt 
believe in any thing else." Alice laughed at her 
conceits, and said it was a blessing to have such 
a lively companion in a lonesome place. 

As soon as the first hurry was over, the men of 
the family converted packing-boxes into shelves for 
books and utensils, and made divers grotesque- 
looking stools, with cotton cloth and unpeeled 
boughs of wood, after the fashion of portable gar- 
den-chairs. There was talk of a table to be hewn 
from a black walnut tree ; but as yet the tree was 
growing, and boards on barrel-tops must answer 
meanwhile. The salt-cellars were broken when the 
wagons were pitching down some of the ravines ; 
but the shell of a turtle, which Kate's brother 
Thomas had brought among his traps, made a tol- 
erable substitute. The women missed the smooth, 
white table-cloths, and the orderly arrangement of 


dishes, to which, they had been accustomed; but 
they agreed with the men, that no food had i 
tasted so good as the corn-cakes, venison, and wild 
game cooked in that humble cabin, where they 
mutually served each other in love. Then the un- 
packing of the deep trunks and boxes, bringing to 
light memorials of old places and dear friends, v, 
pleasure which only the far-off emigrant from home 
may realize. Some mutual secrets had been kept, 
which made little sunny ripples of surprise in their 
quiet stream of life. Alice's father and mother had 
packed their photograph likenesses in Katie's 
trunk, with a charge that they should not be 
opened till they were settled in their new home. 
Katie had pressed mosses and ferns from the old 
well near Uncle May's garden-gate. They were 
twined with pendant blossoms from the old elm, 
and woven into a garland round the words, " From 
the well whose waters Katie and Allie drank in 
childhood, and from the old elm-tree from whose 
boughs they used to swing." She had framed it 
neatly with cones, gathered in a pine grove, where 
they had walked together many an hour. These 
souvenirs of the dear old home so stirred the deep 
fountains of feeling in her cousin's soul, that she 
burst into tears. But Katie soon made her laugh, 
by exhibiting a crockery bear, which little Greorgy 
had packed among the things, to remind them of 
the living bear he expected to receive from Kansas. 
Alice said she had a little secret too. She re- 


treated to her division of the room, and brought 
forth a pencil-drawing of the house where Katie 
was born, and where her mother had always lived ; 
and across the green lane was Uncle May's house, 
with the old well shaded by the elm. She had a 
talent for drawing, and the dear familiar scene was 
brought faithfully before the eye, though a little 
idealized by the softness of the shading. 

"Dear me!" exclaimed the vivacious Katie. 
" How can I put it where I can see it often, yet 
contrive to keep it free from smoke and dust?" 
She gave a forlorn kind of glance at the unplas- 
tered walls, through chinks of which glimpses of 
the sky were visible. The fact was, neither they 
nor their friends had been aware of the rough con- 
ditions of a settler's life; and the cousins had 
brought with them many pretty little keepsakes, 
which they could find no places for. But it was a 
rule with them to utter no complaints, to add to 
the weight of cares already resting on their noble 
husbands. So the forlorn look quickly gave place 
to a smile, as Kate kissed her cousin, and said, 
" I'll tell you what I will do, Allie dear. I will 
keep it in my heart." 

"It is a large place, and blesses all it keeps. 
That I can bear witness to," said John. * * * * 

There was need that the women of Kansas should 
overlook their own inconveniences, and be silent 
about their own sufferings; for a thunder-cloud 
was gathering over the heads of the emigrants, and 



every week it grew blacker and blacker. It needed 
less quickness of observation than Katie possessed, 
to perceive, almost immediately after their arrival, 
that they were surrounded by dangerous enemies. 

Her husband, knowing the reliable strength of 
her character, did not hesitate to confide to her his 
anxieties and fears for Kansas. But, as far as pos- 
sible, they kept danger out of sight in their con- 
versations with Alice. They had seen proof enough 
that she was strong in self-sacrifice, with abundant 
fortitude to endure for those she loved ; but they 
knew that the life-blood of her soul was in her 
affections, and that perils in her husband's path 
would undermine the strength she needed for her 
own. Her busy hands were almost entirely em- 
ployed with in-door occupations ; sewing and mend- 
ing for the whole family, keeping the rooms tidy, 
and assisting about the daily cooking. If it was 
necessary to purchase a pail, or pan, or any other 
household convenience, it was Katie who sallied 
forth into Massachusetts street to examine such, 
articles as were for sale at the little shanty shops. 
If water was wanted, when the men were absent, 
she put on her deep cape-bonnet, and took the pail 
to the nearest spring, nearly a quarter of a mile dis- 
tant ; for there was so much work pressing to be 
done in Lawrence, that as yet there had been no 
time found to construct wells ; and the water of the 
river became shallow and turbid under the summer 
sun. These excursions were at first amusing from 


their novelty, and she came home with a lively. ac- 
count of odd-looking Missouri cattle-drovers, and 
Indian squaws, with bags full of papooses strapped 
to their shoulders. But gradually the tone of mer- 
riment subsided ; and when she had occasion to go 
into the street, she usually returned silent and 
thoughtful. Fierce-looking Missourians, from the 
neighbouring border, scowled at her as she passed, 
and took pleasure in making their horses rear and 
plunge across her path. In the little shops she often 
found more or less of these ruffians, half- tipsy, with 
hair unkempt, and beards like cotton-cards, squirt- 
ing tobacco-juice in every direction, and interlard- 
ing their conversation with oaths and curses. Every 
one that entered was hailed with the interrogatory, 
" Stranger, whar ar yer from ?" If their answer 
indicated any place north of the Ohio, and east of 
the Missisippi, the response was, " Damn yer, holler- 
hearted Yankees ! What business have you in these 
diggens? You'd better clar out, I tell yer." 

On one of these occasions, a dirty drunken fellow 
said to Kate, "They tell me you are an all-fired 
smart woman. Are you pro-slave ? or do you go 
in for the abolitionists ?" 

Concealing the disgust she felt, she quietly re- 
plied, " I wish to see Kansas a Free State, because I 
have her prosperity at heart." 

" Damn yer imperdence !" exclaimed the brute. 
" I should like to see you chained up with one of 
our niggers. I'll be cussed if I would'nt help to do 


it." And he finished by stooping down and squirt- 
ing a quantity of tobacco-juice into her face. 

There was another Missourian in the shop, a tall 
burly looking cattle drover, with a long whip in his 
hand. He seized the other roughly by the arm, 
saying, " I tell you what, my boy, that's puttin it 
on a little too thick. I'm pro-slave. If you're for 
a for fight with the Yankees,. Tom Thorpe's the 
man for yer work. But I'm down on all sich fixens. 
Let the woman alone !" 

The rowdy drew his bowie-knife, with a volley 
of oaths, and Katie darted from the shop, leaving 
her purchases uncompleted. When she returned, 
she found her mother busy about dinner, and Alice 
sitting at the window, making a coarse frock. She 
raised her head and smiled, when her cousin en- 
tered, but immediately looked out toward Mount 
Oread. When she first saw that verdant slope, she 
had fallen in love with its beauty ; then she had 
been attracted by the classic name, conferred on it 
by a scholar among the emigrants. There was 
something romantic in thus transporting the Moun- 
tain Spirits of ancient Greece into the loveliest por- 
tions of this new Western World. William often 
quoted Leigh Hunt's verses, about 

" The Oreads, that frequent the lifted mountains ; 
******* an( q ' er deep ravines 
Sit listening to the talking streams below." 

Then Governor Eobinson's house, on the brow of 


the hill, was a pleasant object in the scenery ; for 
he was a courteous and cultivated man, with a good 
library, always at their disposal. There was so 
much quiet gentle strength about him, that his pres- 
ence seemed to ensure protection. The last and 
strongest reason why Alice loved Mount Oread was 
that William had taken land a little beyond it, and 
there was to be their future home, snug as a bird's 
nest, in a "sunny nook of greenery." He was 
building a cabin there, and every day she saw him 
descending toward Lawrence, with the axe on his 
shoulder; and as he came nearer, she could hear 
him whistling, "Home, sweet home." She was 
watching for him now, and hoping he would return 
in season for dinner. Therefore she had not noticed 
the flurried manner with which Kate hastened to 
wash her face, and wipe the tobacco stains from her 
bonnet. While she was thus employed, the old 
lady said to her youngest daughter, " Flora, go and 
call John and Thomas from the field. Dinner is 
nearly ready." 

"No, mother! No!" exclaimed Katie. "Never 
send her out ! Never /" Perceiving that her quick 
emphatic manner had arrested the attention of all 
the inmates of her dwelling, she added in a lower 
tone, " I will go, myself." 

But her words had aroused a train of thoughts, 

which was becoming more and more familiar to 

Alice. The men in the vicinity often came to ask 

council of Mr. Bradford and Mr. Bruce; and of 



course their talk was mainly concerning the neigh- 
bouring state of Missouri. She heard them tell how 
ruffians and rowdies came over the border with 
bowie-knives and pistols to drive the free citizens 
of Kansas away from the polls ; to deprive them of 
liberty to make their own laws, and compel them 
to be governed by the code of Missouri, which in 
many ways violated their moral sense. She heard 
them say that spies from Missouri were in every 
neighbourhood, watching those emigrants who dared 
to say any thing in favour of having the soil of Kan- 
sas free. Why was Katie so flushed and flurried ? 
Was the danger approaching nearer than she was 
aware of? She turned anxiously toward Mount 
Oread, and longed for a sight of William. What if 
he should not return till after night-fall ? He, whose 
honest mouth would never utter a word that was 
false to freedom, whatever might be his personal 
risk? Unable to keep back the crowding tears, 
she slipped behind the cotton curtain that screened 
their sleeping apartment, and kneeling beside their 
rude couch, she prayed earnestly to God to protect 
her husband. 

William had not arrived when they sat down to 
dine, and his wife made various pretences for rising 
to remove a plate, or bring a cup of water ; but in 
reality to look out upon Mount Oread. At last, 
she heard his voice, and rushed out to meet him, 
with an outburst of emotion that surprised them all. 


John shook his head mournfully, and sighed as he 
said, " Poor Alice ! How she idolizes him 1" 

Katie had the discretion not to mention her ren- 
contre with the Border Ruffian to any but her hus- 
band, who grew red in the face and clenched his 
fist, while he listened, but immediately subsided 
into a calmer mood, and said, " We must be careful 
never to lose sight of the best interests of Kansas, in 
our resentment at the wrongs and insults we are 
continually receiving. We will give these lawless 
rascals no excuse for molesting us, and wait with 
patience for the American government to protect 
its unoffending citizens." 

On the afternoon of the same day, a gawky lad, 
with a " long nine" in his mouth, and hands in his 
trowsers pockets, came to the door, saying, "The 
ole woman's tuk wi' fits almighty strong ; and the 
ole man wants you to cum, and bring along some 
o' yer doctor's stuff. He's heern tell that yer 
death on fits." 

Mrs. Bradford had become so accustomed to the 
South- Western lingo, that she understood " the ole 
man" to be the lad's father. She knew very well 
that he was a Missouri spy, of the lowest order, an 
accomplice in many villainous proceedings against 
the free-soil citizens of Kansas. She felt a loathing 
of the whole family, not unmingled with resent- 
ment ; but she rose quickly to prepare the medi- 
cines ; thinking to herself, " What hypocrisy it is 
for me to profess to be a believer in Christianity, if 


I cannot cheerfully return good for evil, in such a 
case as this." She administered relief to the sufferer, 
as tenderly as if she had been her own sister ; and 
the poor woman expressed gratitude for it, in her 
uncouth way. When Kate remarked that they 
would feel more kindly toward the Yankees, if 
they knew them better, she replied, " I allers tole 
my ole man I wished they wouldn't keep up such 
a muss. But Lor', what the use o' speakin'. It's 
jist like spittin' agin the wind.". 

That night, Mr. Bradford's horse and saddle were 
stolen. They never knew by whom ; but they 
were afterward seen in Missouri. 

In the midst of discouragements and dangers, 
the brave band of settlers went on with their work. 
Better stores were erected, and, one after another, 
the temporary cabins gave place to comfortable 
stone houses. 

An Emigrant Aid Society had been formed in 
the North, whose object it was to assist in the 
erection of mills, school-houses, and other buildings, 
for the public benefit. Their motive was partly 
financial, inasmuch as all such improvements rapid- 
ly increased the value of property in Kansas ; and 
they were well aware that the outward prosperity, 
as well as the moral strength of a state depended 
greatly upon encouraging emigrants to go from 
communities where they had been accustomed to 
free institutions, educational privileges, orderly 
habits, and salutary laws. Their motives in ex- 


tending a helping Land to these infant colonies, 
were both morally; good and worldly wise. There 
was no partiality in their management of affairs. 
Emigrants from the Southern states shared their 
benefits equally with those from the North. Set- 
tlers were pouring in from all sections of the 
country ; but chiefly from the North and West, 
because the hardy inhabitants of those states are 
always ready for enterprise and toil. Many of them 
had large families of children, and the small half- 
furnished tavern, called the Cincinnati House, was 
quite insufficient to afford them shelter while cabins 
were prepared for them. In the course of their 
first summer, John Bradford and his band of pil- 
grims had the satisfaction of seeing a noble stone 
hotel, of three stories, rise in Massachusetts street, 
making the place beautiful with its glazed win- 
dows, and doors of polished black walnut. 

Unfortunately, the only route to Kansas, by rail- 
road or steamboat, passed through Missouri. Bag- 
gage-wagons were continually plundered, and let- 
ters broken open and destroyed, by the Border 
Ruffians. Supplies of provisions, purchased by 
the settlers, or sent to them by their friends, went 
to enrich their enemies. Money enclosed in letters 
met with the same fate. Still the settlers of Kansas 
pursued a pacific course toward their persecutors. 
They came from communities where laws were re- 
liable for protection, and, following their old habits, 
they appealed to the laws ; desirous, at all hazards, 


not to involve the country in civil war. This con- 
scientious patriotism was not appreciated. The 
banditti on the borders laughed it to scorn ; while 
the slaveholding gentlemen and statesmen, who 
used them as puppets, to do the disgraceful work 
the j were ashamed to do openly themselves, smiled 
at the Yankees' reverence for the Union, and suc- 
cessfully played their old game of practicing on 
conscientious love of country, in order to tighten 
the serpent coil of slavery more securely about the 
neck of freedom. Missourians had voted their 
own creatures into most of the offices of Kansas. 
Some of them pitched a tent in that Territory for a 
while, while others did not even assume the ap- 
pearance of residing there. From such officers of 
justice the citizens of Kansas could find no redress 
for the robberies and wrongs continually inflicted 
on them, by the band of ruffians commissioned to 
drive them out of the Territory' by any means that 
would do it most effectually. Our wrongs from 
the British government were slight, compared with 
theirs. Still these Western Colonies refrained from 
revolution. They sent agents to Washington, with 
well-attested evidence of their outrageous wrongs. 
They received fair words, and no relief. Every 
day it became more evident that the President of 
the United States was in league with the power 
that was crushing free Kansas. The Missourians, 
emboldened by their knowledge of this fact, played 
their bad game more and more openly. They paid 


men a dollar a day, with plenty of whiskey, and 
free passage across the ferries, to go into Kansas 
and vote down the rights of the citizens. More 
and more, the conviction grew upon the people of 
Kansas that they could not trust the government 
of the United States, and consequently had only 
their own energies to rely upon. They published 
a paper called the Herald of Freedom, in which 
they maintained the right of all American citizens 
to choose their own magistrates, and make their own 
laws. They rejected the legislators imposed upon 
them by the rabble of Missouri, at the point of the 
bayonet. They declared that a large majority of 
the settlers were desirous to have Kansas a Free 
State, and that they would maintain their right to 
be heard. To this paper, John Bradford and Wil- 
liam Bruce were constant contributors, and Kate's 
brother, Thomas, was diligent in setting the types. 
Of course, the family became odious to those who 
were bent on driving freedom out of Kansas. 

A Convention of the free-soil citizens of the 
Territory was called at Topeka. There were rep- 
resentatives from nearly all sections of the Union. 
Emigrants from Carolina, Virginia, and Missouri, 
agreed with emigrants from Ohio and Massachu- 
setts, that the introduction of slavery would prove 
disastrous to the prosperity of the state. They 
framed a Constitution for Kansas, and chose legis- 
lators. Some required that free coloured people 
should be excluded from the Territorv, as well as 


slaves. Others deemed that such a regulation 
would be an infringement upon freedom, and urged 
that no man could calculate the future bad con- 
sequences of introducing one wrong principle into 
the basis of their government. ISTo one urged this 
point more strenuously, than did William Bruce, 
in his mild firm way. But Southern emigrants 
were opposed to that view of the case, and the Con- 
vention, desirous to concede as far as possible, yet 
unwilling to introduce such a clause into their Con- 
stitution, concluded to leave that question to the 
votes of the people. 

It was a trying time for the women in Lawrence. 
The wisest and bravest men were absent in Topeka, 
which was twenty -five miles further up the river. 
The Convention excited great wrath in Missouri. 
They called themselves lovers of "law and order," 
and denounced those as "traitors" who dared to 
make other laws than those imposed upon them 
with bowie-knives and revolvers. The wildest 
stories were circulated. The most moderate of 
them was a rumour that Mr. Bruce insisted upon 
having "niggers" become members of the legis- 
lature. This they regarded as the greatest mon- 
strosity a republican could be guilty of; for they 
were blind to the fact that hundreds of coloured 
slaves could be found, who were more fit for the 
office, than the white ones they had appointed to 
rule over Kansas. Insults multiplied, and curses 
and threats grew louder. Every family in Law- 


rence went to bed each night with the feeling that 
they might be murdered before morning. 

When the delegates returned, John Bradford 
thought his wife seemed at least ten years older, 
than when she came to Kansas, the preceding 
spring. The baby, who could now toddle alone, 
had caught the trick of fear, and hid himself, when 
his father knocked at the fastened door. 

William was alarmed to find Alice so thin and 
pale, and to see her gentle eyes look so large and 
frightened. He folded her closely in his arms, and 
as she wept upon his bosom, he said, " my wife ! 
My loving and generous wife ! How I reproach 
myself for accepting the sacrifice you offered ! Yet 
had I foreseen this state of things, I never would 
have consented that you should follow me into 

" Don't say that !" she exclaimed nervously. u It 
will be easier to die with you, than it would have 
been to live without you. But oh, William, why 
need they persecute us so ? There are thousands 
of acres of land uncultivated in Missouri. What 
makes them covet our land ?" 

"Ah, dearest, it is a complicated question, and 
you don't understand it. They care little for the 
land, except as a means of increasing their political 
power. They want more Slave States, to be rep- 
resented by slaveholders in the councils of the 
Union ; and they do not want that any more Free 
States should come into the Union, to balance their 


influence. Therefore -they are not content with 
stretching their dominions to the Gulf of Mexico, 
and seizing Texas. They wish to grasp the 
Northern Territories also, that they may be secure 
of keeping the Free States in political subjection. 
It is a long storj', my love. For many years, they 
have been artfully availing themselves of every 
means to increase their power. The antagonistic 
principles of slavery and freedom have come to a 
death-grapple here in Kansas ; and you, my del- 
icate little flower, are here to be trampled in the 

Alice sighed, and wished she was more like 
Kate; for then she would not be such a weight 
upon his spirits. But he declared that he would 
not for the world have her in any way different 
from her own dear self. Then they fell to talking 
about their future home, which was now in readi- 
ness. Two of William's brothers had arrived with 
their families. An addition to the cabin had been 
built for one of them, and the other would live 
within call. Katie was loth to part from her 
cousin ; but she said they would be far more com- 
fortable in their new quarters, and as for safety, 
there was safety nowhere ; least of all, in Lawrence. 

Gradually they fell into a more cheerful strain 
of conversation. The husbands spoke -hopefully, 
and really felt so ; for they had strtfng faith that 
their beautiful Kansas would become a free and 
prosperous state. 


Various boxes from Massachusetts, directed to 
William Bruce, had arrived in Kansas City. Some 
of them contained comfortables and blankets for 
the winter, which Mrs. May had prepared for her 
darling daughter; her "stray lamb in the wilder- 
ness," as she was wont to call her. Could all that 
mother's thoughts and feelings have been daguerreo- 
typed on the cloth, while those stitches were taken, 
it would have been an epic poem of wondrous 
pathos. What visions of Alice sleeping in her 
cradle; of her wakening smile; of her soft curls 
waving in the summer breeze, as she came running 
with a flower ; of her girlish bloom, delicate as the 
sweet-pea blossom ; of her clear melodious voice 
in the choir at church; of the bashful blushing 
ways, that betrayed her dawning love for William ; 
of the struggle in her soul, when she must choose 
between him and her parents ; of her parting look, 
when she turned from the home of her childhood, 
to follow her husband into the wilderness. In 
Alice's soul those stitches, by the old, fond, faithful 
hand, would also waken a poem of reminiscences. 
How she longed for those boxes, to see what 
mother had sent her! Above all, for the letters 
from dear New England ; especially the long letter 
from mother ! 

It was agreed that William's brothers should go 
with a " wagon to bring them. They reached 
Kansas city in safety, and the boxes were delivered 
to them. Passing through Franklin, on their re- 


turn, they found fifty or sixty Missouri ruffians 
carousing round a rum-shop, built of logs. A 
man with ragged trowsers and dirty checked shirt, 
too tipsy to stand alone, was leaning against a 
corner of the shop, scraping a fiddle, while his 
comrades sung : 

"We've camped in the wilderness, 
For a few days, for a few days ; 

And then we're going home, 

We've a right up yonder. 
We'll vote, and shoot the Yankees, 
For a few days, for a few days ; 

And then we're going home, 

We've a right up yonder." 

As soon as this drunken crew espied the bag- 
gage-wagon, wending its way toward Kansas, they 
set up a frightful yell, and, making a rush at the 
horses, called out, "Hallo, stranger! whar are you 
going ? and what are you toting ?" 

" To Lawrence, with a load of household goods," 
they replied. 

" That's a damned nest of Yankee abolitionists I" 
cried one. 

"We're gwine to wipe it out," shouted another. 

" The goods must be overhauled, boys !" bawled 
a third. 

It was vain to remonstrate, and useless to fis:ht 
against such desperate odds. They unloaded the 
wagons, tore bpen the boxes, and pulled out the 
home treasures, which would have been so precious 


to Alice. The young men pleaded hard for the 
letters ; but the mob said they must carry them to 
the Governor, to see if there was treason in them. 

" The Governor shall be informed of this, and if 
there's justice to be obtained in the land, we'll have 
it," said the brothers. 

"Shut up, you damned rascals!" shouted the 
rabble. " Git into yer waggin and be off, or we'll 
stop yer jawing!" 

Poor Alice ! The blessed words, warm from her 
mother's heart, that would have poured such balm 
into her own, would be used to light the pipes of 
Missouri ruffians. The quilts, so neatly made by 
those dear old hands, would be spread on muddy 
floors for drunken revels. It was hard to bear ; 
but she knew this was only one of a thousand 
wrongs, and she said, " I will never murmur while 
my dear good William is spared to me." 

From the time of her betrothal, her loving heart 
had dreamed of a neat little wedded home, cozy 
and comfortable, with a few simple adornments of 
pictures and vases. The loosely-built cabins of 
Kansas, with their rough "cotton-board" floors, 
brown with prairie mud, had driven away the illu- 
sion ; but still it hovered there over Mount Oread, 
and the Mountain Spirits seemed to sing a pro- 
phetic song of love and peace in a sunny future. 
She found the new home provided with more con- 
veniences than the one she had left ; for William, 
in the midst of all his cares, never forgot her, and 
21) x 


snatched an hour, whenever he could, to work for 
her comfort. 

It was the morning of a sunny day when they 
entered their new abode, and all things looked neat 
and cheerful. William, who was reverential by 
temperament, viewed all the common duties and 
affairs of life in a religious light. They stood for a 
moment, hand in hand, gazing at the humble little 
cabin, with moistened eyes. Then he removed his 
hat, and lookiDg earnestly to heaven, he threw 
water on the roof, saying, " I baptize thee the 
Freeman's Home. May the blessing of God de- 
scend upon thee!" There was a saddened pleasure 
in thus consecrating their encampment in the wil- 

In Lawrence, darker, and darker yet, the storm 
was lowering. Autumn was coming on with heavy 
dews, and cold winds from the mountains swept 
across the open prairie, whistling through the loop- 
holes of the fragile cabins, as they went. The 
dampness and the chill brought with them that 
dreadful demon of the settler's life, fever and ague. 
The arms of strong men were palsied by it, and the 
little children looked like blossoms blighted by a 
sudden frost. The active, generous-hearted Katie 
found time to run hither and thither with gruel and 
medicine, though her own little one was shivering, 
as if his joints would fall asunder. Many a mur- 
mured blessing followed her footsteps from cabin 
to cabin, and many a grateful tear fell on her hand, 


from home-sick souls, sorrowful, even unto death. 
In the midst of this calamity, rumours of invasion 
by the Missourians increased daily. In John 
Bradford's cabin all slept so lightly, that the slight- 
est unusual sound startled them to instant wake- 
fulness. The distant whoop of Indians on the 
prairie, and the howling of hungry wolves disturbed 
them not. They were in dread of a more infernal 
sound than these; the midnight yell of Border 
Ruffians. A few weeks after the departure of 
Alice, they were waked from uneasy slumbers by 
that frightful noise, at the very walls of their cabin. 
Katie rose hastily, and laying her sick child on the 
floor, covered him with a thick cotton comfortable ; 
hoping that the rifle-balls, if they whizzed through 
the cabin, would either fly over him, or lose their 
force in the wadding. There was a random shot, 
but the ball stuck in the boards at their bed's head. 
The next moment the door was burst open by 
twenty or thirty fierce-looking men, armed with 
bowie-knives and revolvers. Never, out of the in- 
fernal pit, was heard such a volley of blasphemy 
and obscenity, as poured from their foul mouths. 
The purport of it all was that they had sworn to 
" wipe out Lawrence ;" and that they had come to 
shoot this "damned Yankee abolitionist," who had 
had the impudence to write in the paper that Kansas 
would yet be a Free State. They attempted to seize 
Mr. Bradford, but his wife threw herself across 
him, and said, " If you murder him, it shall be 


through my heart's blood." They struck her with 
their fists, they tried to pull her away ; but she 
clung with a convulsive power that was too strong 
for them. Her brother, Thomas, was out that 
night, watching with a neighbour who was " down" 
with fever and ague ; and it had been previously 
arranged that young Flora and her mother should 
remain hidden in the loft, in case of such an emer- 
gency. No screams ascended to their ears, for 
Katie had outgrown a woman's weakness. But 
the listening mother heard the scuffle below, and, 
bidding Flora to hide in the darkest corner, she 
hastened down the ladder, and threw her arms 
round John and Katie, sa}dng, "You shall kill 
me first." They cursed her, and spit at her, and, 
knocking the night-cap from her head, made 
mockery of her gray hairs. The lurid light of 
their torch fell on the scene, and all the while, the 
wailing of the sick child was heard: "Mammy! 
Johnny's ^faid. Mammy ! Johnny's 'firieL" 

How the struggle might have ended, none can 
tell, had not a tall figure suddenly burst into the 
room, exclaiming, "Boys! I'm down on all sich 
fixens. Let the women alone ! I'll be darned if I 
don't like to see a woman stick to her husband in 
trouble, if he is a damned abolitionist. Let her 
alone, I tell ye ! Wait till the time comes for a 
far fight. It's all fired mean, boj^s ! Sich a posse 
arter one man and two women." Seeing the 
human wolves reluctant to quit their prey, he 


brandished a bowie-knife, and exclaimed, in a 
thundering voice, " I tell ye what, boys, if ye 
don't let them ar women alone, I'll pitch into yer, 
as sure as my name's Tom Thorpe !" 

This remonstrance excited a feeling of shame in 
some of the gang, while others were willing enough 
to avoid a quarrel with such a powerful antagonist. 

The ruffians, thus adjured, swaggered away, 
saying, "We a'nt afeerd o' Tom Thorpe, or the 
devil." They swore frightful oaths, smashed Kate's 
small stock of crockery, and seized whatever they 
could lay hands on, as they went. And all the 
while, the sick babe was wailing, " Mammy ! 
Johnny's 'faid. Mammy ! Johnny's J faid. v 

Kate took the poor attenuated child in her arms. 
Those arms, so strong a few moments ago, were 
trembling now ; and tears were dropping from the 
eyes that lately glared so sternly on her husband's 
enemies. Tom Thorpe lingered a moment, and 
was turning silently away, when she rose, with the 
child resting on her shoulder, and took his hand 
in hers. "I thank you, Mr. Thorpe," she said. 
" This is the second time you have protected me 
from insult and injury. I will never forget it. 
And if a helpless Missourian should ever need my 
aid, though he be the worst of Border Kuffians, I 
will remember Tom Thorpe, and help him for his 
sake. I am sorry you stand up for slavery ; you 
seem to have a soul too noble for that. I am sure 
if you lived in a Free State for a while, you would 


be convinced that slavery has a bad effect on all 
concerned in it." 

The mother here laid her hand on his arm, and 
said, " We are a persecuted people, Mr. Thorpe ; 
persecuted without provocation; and, I believe, 
something in your own heart tells you so. God 
bless you for what you have done to-night." 

Mr. Bradford, who had been looking through 
the chinks in the wall, to watch the course the 
ruffians had taken, now came up to add his thanks, 
and ask him if he would take any refreshment. 

" Thankee, stranger," said Tom. " I've no 'ca- 
sion. I've been drovin cattle roun in the Territory ; 
and I knows that ar yell of theirn. So I thought 
I'd jist cum and see what they was cuttin up. I'm 
down on all sich fixens. Allers tole the boys so. 
Tom Thorpe's fur a far fight, says I." 

Mr. Bradford tried to convince him that the in- 
habitants of Kansas wished to be peaceable, just, 
and kind in their dealings with the Missourians, 
and with all men ; and that there was no need of a 
"fair fight," and no excuse for ruffian violence. 

O 7 

And Kate threw in an argument now and then, to 
aid her husband. But Tom Thorpe had the idea 
firmly fixed inside his shaggy head, that a " far 
fight" was somehow necessary for the honor of 
Missouri, though he was unable to explain why. 
The mighty drover rolled the quid in his mouth, 
passed a huge hand through his thick mass of 
hair, and strode out into the darkness, repeating, 


" Tom Thorpe's down on all sicli fixens." As lie 
walked along, lie muttered to himself, "That ar's 
an almighty smart woman. What a fetchin up 
she must a had! No such fetchin up in our 
diggins. I'm pro-slave, myself. But them ar free- 
soilers use a feller all up. I swar, I bleeve 
they're more'n half right. I'll be darned if I 

Meanwhile, the inmates of the cabin were canvas- 
sing his merits. As he passed out of the door, Katie 
said, " There goes an honest kind heart, under that 
rough exterior !" 

" A little foggy about right and wrong," replied 
her husband ; " but with instincts like a powerful 
and generous animal." 

"That's owing to his l fetchin up,' as they say, re- 
joined Kate. " What a man he might have made, 
if he had been brought up under free institu- 
tions !" 

" Bless your generous soul !" ejaculated John. 
"But tell me now truly, Katie, don't you begin 
to be sorry we ever came to Kansas?" 

She raised her eyes to his, and said calmly, 
" ISTo, John ; never. The more I know of those 
Missouri ruffians, the more deeply do I feel that it 
is worth the sacrifice of many lives to save this fair 
territory from the blighting curse of slavery." 

" True as steel ! True as steel !" exclaimed John, 
giving her a hearty kiss. " How manfully you 
stood by me I" 


11 How womanfully, you mean," she replied, 

" I assure you, Kate, it required more courage 
to refrain from seizing my rifle, than it would have 
done to discharge its contents among those rascals. 
Though we stand pledged to avoid bloodshed, I 
verily believe I should have broken my pledge, if 
your voice had not pleaded all the time, ' Don't, 
John! Don't!'" 

" Oh if the government at Washington would 
only do its duty !" sighed Kate. " How can they 
trifle thus with the lives of innocent citizens ?" 

"It's worse than that," rejoined her husband. 
" Their influence protects the wolfish pack. Slavery 
always has need of blood-hounds to keep down the 
love of freedom in the human soul ; and these 
Border Ruffians are its human blood-hounds." 

"I wonder whether Frank Pierce has any small 
children," said Katie. "If he has, I wish he and 
his wife could have heard the feeble voice of this 
little one, in the midst of those shocking 1 oaths 
and curses, calling out, 'Mammy! Johnny's 'faidJ 
God of mercy ! Shall I ever forget that sound !" 
She drew the sleeping child to her heart, with a 
gentle pressure, and the tears of father and mother 
fell fast upon him. The grandmother sat apart* 
with her head leaning on the table, and wept also. 

For two or three weeks after this transaction, 
there was a lull in the tempest. Missourian wag- 


oners came into Lawrence often, with loads of 
apples, potatoes, and flour. They met with honest 
and kindly treatment. No one sought to take re- 
prisals for the many loads of provisions plundered 
from Kansas. The bravely patient people still 
waited for redress by law. Soon there came news 
of a peaceable, industrious settler in the neighbour- 
hood of Lawrence, who had been shot dead by a 
scouting party of Missourians, in mere sport, while 
he was pursuing his avocations. A few days after, 
a gang of armed ruffians entered the house of a 
citizen in Lawrence and carried him off, under the 
pretence of arresting him for treason. On their 
way, they were met by a company of young men 
from Lawrence, who had been out to inquire about 
the recent murder. They hailed the Missourians, 
and as they could show no legal authority for what 
they had done, they took their neighbour into their 
own ranks, to guard him home. They offered no 
violence, but, .in answer to the threats of their en- 
emies, replied, with a firmness not to be trifled 
with, "We are all armed; and we shall take this 
man home." 

Though their own horses and cattle had been 
seized and driven off into Missouri, drove after 
drove, they inquired of their neighbour whether 
the horse he rode belonged to those who had ar- 
rested him ; and when he answered in the affirma- 
tive, they asked him to dismount and return the 
animal to his owners. Truly the forbearance of 


that persecuted people was wonderful ! The United 
States' government, where was vested the only 
power that could legally protect them, continued 
to receive their remonstrances and appeals with 
fair promises and adroit evasions ; while its alliance 
with the slaveholding interest, in all its machina- 
tions, was too thinly veiled to be for a moment 
doubted. In pursuance of this policy, the Presi- 
dent appointed Governor Shannon to rule over the 
Territory ; a man in league with the Missourians, 
and bent upon carrying out their plans, as openly 
as it was prudent to do. Somehow or other, no 
outrages upon Kansas could find redress at his 
hands. The settlers were told to obey the laws, 
and be good children to their father, President 
Pierce, and they should be protected. " The laws !" 
exclaimed they. " Why these are Missouri laws, 
forced upon us at the point of the bayonet." They 
were answered, " The President commands you to 
obey the laws, and if you rebel against his authority, 
you will be declared guilty of treason!" Mean- 
while, many a smooth-tongued plotter tried to gain 
concessions from the friends of freedom ; talking 
of the value of the Union, the danger of civil war, 
and the policy of bending before the storm; a fa- 
vourite piece of advice in the mouths of those politi- 
cians, who set the storm in motion, and are guiding 
it in the hollow of their hands ! 

Was ever a people so hard bested ? Disheartened 
by sickness ; plundered of provisions ; lying down 


every night with the prospect of murder before 
morning ; mocked at by the government of their 
country ; their conscientious scruples appealed to, 
to keep the peace where there iucls no peace ; lured 
into concessions, by fair promises and false profes- 
sions ; threatened with a traitor's doom, if they 
dared to defend their homes ! And all this while, 
the Free States were looking on with drowsy in- 
difference. The whig said, with bland self-import- 
ance, " They'd better obey the powers that be. I 
am a friend to law and order." The democrat re- 
fused to read well-authenticated testimony on the 
subject, and repeated, with blind obstinacy, "I 
don't believe half the stories ; and if any of them 
are true, I dare say the free-soil ers are full as much 
to blame as the Missourians." 

Yerily, they need the trumpet of doom to waken 
them. And the trumpet of doom they will have, 
when wakening comes too late, if their slumber 
lasts much longer. 

That little city of cabins, nestling among the 
lonely hills, has called and called in vain for redress 
and protection. The murders and robberies still 
go on. The Border Ruffians are assembling their 
forces at Franklin below, and at Douglass above. 
In their drunken frankness, they say they will shoot 
the men, violate the women, kill the children, and 
burn the houses ; that their commission is to drive 
all the Yankee settlers out of the territory, by any 
means, and all means ; and that no man will dare 


to prosecute them, whatever they may do. The 
settlers all feel that the hour for self-defence has 
come. Stacks of Sharpe's rifles stand in the cabins 
ready loaded. Forts are erected, and breast-works 
thrown up. Companies of men work at them by 
turns, all day and all night, by the light of blazing 
wood. Volunteers come in from the neighbouring 
settlements. The Wyandott tribe of Indians offer 
their aid in case of need ; for they have been justly 
treated by the Kansas people, and are unwilling to 
have them " wiped out." Sentinels guard the doors 
of the Free State Hotel. All night, mounted pat- 
rols ride round the settlement. The drummer 
watches at his post, ready to beat the alarm ; for 
they have learned that their cowardly, treacherous 
foes, assassin-like, prefer the midnight hour. Ever 
and anon, random shots come from ruffians con- 
cealed in dark corners. Women look anxiously at 
the doors, expecting to see the bleeding bodies of 
husbands, sons, or brothers, brought in. Governor 
Robinson, now General of the forces, still pursues 
his course of moderation, and orders the men not 
to fire till the very last extremity. 

There was a small store of powder and percussion- 
caps in the vicinity, and various plans were devised 
to bring it in safely, through the scouting-parties 
of Missourians. " I will do it," said Mrs. Bradford. 
" They will never suspect that women carry such 
luggage." Another woman in the neighbourhood 
promptly offered to accompany her, and they 


started in a wagon for that purpose. They were 
accosted by Missouri scouts, but as their place of 
destination seemed to imply nothing more than 
visiting a friend, they deemed it gallant to let the 
ladies pass unmolested. The kegs of powder were 
covered by their ample skirts, and brought safely 
into Lawrence. The young men on guard threw 
up their caps, and cried, "Hurra! Worthy of the 
women of 76 !" 

Alice also was brave in her way. She resigned 
herself patiently to the long and frequent absence 
of her beloved husband, and no out-of-door work 
seemed too hard for her to perform. All through 
the autumn, she and the other women of the house- 
hold had helped to gather the crops, tend the cows, 
and feed the horses. When it came William's turn 
to patrol Lawrence, or to work at the trenches 
through the night, she never asked him to stay 
with her. She only gave him a tenderer kiss, a 
more lingering pressure of the hand, which seemed 
to say, " This may be our last farewell." 

Upon one of these occasions, he had been absent 
several days, and she sat at her sewing, longing, 
longing to hear the sound of his voice, The tramp 
of a horse was heard. She sprung up, and looked 
from the little window. William was not there, 
kissing his hand to her, as he was wont to do. 
She ran out of the door, and meeting one of his 
brothers, said, in a disappointed tone, " I thought 
William had come. He sent word he would come 


to-day." He answered that it was merely one of 
the horses" that had got loose. But as she went 
into the house, he looked at his wife, and said, 
" Poor Alice ! Grod grant that it may not be as we 
fear." ' 

> Alas, it was William's horse, that had rushed by 
so fleetly, without a rider, and with the saddle 
turned. Too soon they learned that he had been 
shot in the back by a party of ruffians, after he had 
told them he was unarmed and going home to see 
his family. He supposed that even Border Kuffians 
would not be so cowardly as to take his life nnder 
such circumstances. 

The day passed without any one's being able to 
muster sufficient courage to tell the mournful 
tidings to his widow. She had long expected it, 
and she met it with a dreadful calmness. She ut- 
tered no scream, and shed no tear. She became 
pallid as marble, and pressed her hand hard upon 
her heart. She was stupefied and stunned by that 
overwhelming agony. 

Of all the outrages none had produced so much 
excitement as this. It was so dastardly to shoot an 
unarmed man in the back, without provocation! 
Then Mr. Bruce was universally beloved. His 
justice and moderation were known unto all men. 
The Indians knew how to respect those qualities, 
which they so rarely meet in white men. The 
Chiefs of the Delawares and the Shawnees came to 
offer their aid ; and General Eobinson received 


them with, that personal respect, which so peculiarly 
commends itself to Indian dignity.* As the news 
spread through the Territory, small bands of volun- 
teers came in from all directions. There were five 
hundred armed men in Lawrence. Every cabin 
was a barrack. The Free State Hotel was crowded 
with men earnestly discussing what measures should 
be taken for the public safety. General Kobinson, 
pale and anxious, moved among them, renewing 
his advice to be patient and forbearing. Up to this 
period, the citizens of Kansas had made no aggres- 
sions on their merciless foes, and had used no 
violence in self-defence. But it was not easy to 
restrain them now. Human nature had been 
goaded beyond endurance, and men were in the 
mood to do, or die. When he told them Governor 
Shannon was coming to inquire into the state of 
things, some shook their heads despondingly, while 
the more fiery spirits cursed Governor Shannon, 
and contemptuously asked what good could be ex- 
pected from him. ' Out on the prairie, troops were 
being drilled to the tunes of '76. The Wyanclotts' 
were riding in, single-tile, sitting their noble steeds 
like centaurs. The mettlesome Colonel Lane was 
in his element. He descanted, with untiring volu- 
bility, on the rights of American citizens, and the 
cruel circumstances attending the death of Bruce. 
Men clenched their rifles and drew their breath 
hard, while they listened. There is no* mistaking 
the symptoms. The old spirit of Lexington and 


Concord is here ! They had better not trifle with 
the Puritan blood much longer! 

Anon, they brought in the body of the murdered 
man. His countenance was placid, as the sleep of 
childhood. The widow asked to see him, and ten- 
derly they brought her to that couch of death. Oh, 
what a shriek was there ! Father of mercies ! it 
went up to thy throne. Wilt thou not answer it? 
In view of that suffocating agony, the soldiers 
bowed their heads and wept. 

When Governor Shannon, with his escort, came 
riding across the prairie, there was none to invoke 
a blessing on him. General Kobinson went out to 
receive him, and some one suggested that the chief 
magistrate appointed by the President ought to be 
received with cheers. The door of the room where 
the murdered body lay was open, and men saw it, 
as they passed in and out. The sobs of the broken 
hearted widow were heard from the room adjoining. 
His reception was very much like that of Richard 
Third, who caused the murder of his brother's 
children. John Bradford went through a formal 
introduction to Governor Shannon, but Katie turned 
quickly away, saying, " If he had done his duty, 
this would not have happened." The brothers of 
William Bruce turned away also, and said coldly, 
" We have no faith in that man." The Governor 
saw plainly enough that the blood of Kansas was 
up to fever heat, and that it was prudent to cool it 
down. He was very courteous and conciliatory, 


and promised to disperse the bands of ruffians at 
Franklin and elsewhere. General Eobinson co- 
operated with him in these efforts at pacification. 
He addressed the people in a speech setting forth 
mutual mistakes and misrepresentations, which he 
trusted time would correct. He had always shown 
himself brave in danger, and they knew that he 
was cautious for the good of Kansas, not for his 
own interest or safety. Most of them yielded to 
his arguments, and accepted his invitation to a sup- 
per at the Free State Hotel, in honor of peace re- 
stored. But some walked away, contemptuously, 
saying, " Governor Sham /" 

The settlers, far and near, formed a procession to 
escort the body of William Bruce to its last resting 
place. Alice kept up her strength to witness all 
the ceremonies, and only low stifled sobs came 
from her breaking heart when the coffin was low- 
ered from her sight. But after that she broke 
down rapidly. The long-continued pressure of 
fears and horrors had completely shattered her 
nervous system. She rejected food, and seemed 
never to sleep. As she appeared to feel more at 
home with Katie, than she did with any one else, 
they concluded to establish her in the humble 
apartment where she had first lived with "William. 
Pale and silent she had been ever since she lost 
him ; but gradually a strange fixed expression 
came over her face, as if the body was vacated 
by the soul. Soon she was utterly helpless, and 
30* y 


Katie fed and tended her,' as if she were an infant. 
The winter proved, as the Indians had predicted, 
cold beyond any within the memory of man. The 
settlers, many of them plundered of all their money, 
and most of their clothing, suffered cruelly. Not 
a few of them returned to their homes in Ohio, 
Pennsylvania, and New England. Indications 
multiplied that peace would be of short duration. 
Poor Kate! How she had changed! Thin as 
a skeleton, with eyes so large and bright ! But 
thinking always of others before herself, she said, 
" Mother, dear, worse troubles are coming upon us, 
than we have ever had. John and I have resolved 
that, living or dying, we will abide by Kansas. But 
had'nt you, and Flora, and Tom, better return to 
Massachusetts ?" 

The mother looked at her younger children 
and awaited their answer. " I have lived through 
scenes that make men of boys," said Thomas. "I 
will have a free home, or a grave, in Kansas." 

" And you Flora ?" inquired the mother. 

" The men of Kansas have need of nurses for 
the sick and wounded," she replied, "I will stay 
and help Katie." 

" I will abide by my children, my brave chil- 
dren," said the mother. " Grod help us all to do our 

Alice sat bolstered in her chair by the fire, un- 
conscious of the solemn compact. " Alas," said 
Katie, " how I wish we could convey her safely 


to her mother ! but she is too feeble to be re- 

Emerging from the terrible winter of 1855, the 
returning sunshine brought some gleams of hope 
to the suffering colony. They hoped that more 
emigrants would come in, and they knew the fertile 
soil would yield abundant crops, if there were 
hands to till it. But the Border Bufhans soon 
dashed the cup of pleasant anticipation from their 
lips. They swore they would stop all Yankee 
emigrants from going into Kansas ; and they re- 
newed their threats to "wipe out Lawrence." 
Again they made inroads into the Territory, rob- 
bing the already impoverished settlers, and es- 
pecially seeking to deprive them of arms. During 
one of these' forays, they seized a woman, whom they 
suspected of concealing ammunition, and dragged 
her into the woods, where she was subjected to their 
brutal outrages. 

When Kate Bradford heard of this, her naturally 
pleasant countenance assumed an expression stern 
almost to fierceness. " I called them savages" she 
said, "when they scalped some of their victims ; 
but I did injustice to the savages; for, in their 
worst cruelties, they always respected the modesty 
of women." From that time, she practiced with 
rifle and pistol, and became expert in using them. 
A similar spirit was roused in several of the wo- 
men, who agreed to act under her command, if the 
emergencies of the time required it. Circumstances 


had goaded her to this. Her nature was kindly as 
ever, and she prayed fervently to God that no 
blood might ever rest upon her hands. All along, 
she had been sustained by the belief that aid would 
come to Kansas. She had such pride in American 
institutions, she could not believe that the govern- 
ment of her country was in league with such 
abominations and outrages, until the return of 
messenger after messenger sent to Washington, 
made the damning proof too strong to be resisted. 
Then her old love of New England increased a 
hundred-fold ; for all her hopes centred there. 
The Pilgrims that came over in the May Flower, 
the men and women of '76, had always been the 
heroes of her imagination ; and the crisis, in which 
she now found herself living and acting, rendered 
their crown of glory more luminous in her memory. 
" Massachusetts will help us," she was wont to say, 
with somewhat of filial pride in the confident tones 
of her voice. "Massachusetts will not look on with 
indifference, while her emigrant children are driven 
into a pen-fold to be slaughtered like sheep, by 
those whom long habits of slaveholding have 
made familiar with every form of violence and 

Drearily, drearily, the weeks passed away. Men 
and women were limping about, with feet that had 
been frozen during the winter's severest cold. 
Many had no guns to shoot game, to protect them 
from the wolves, or from enemies far worse than 


wolves. Their ammunition had been stolen from 
them, provisions were intercepted on the way, and 
every breeze brought rumours that the ruffians were 
making ready to " wipe out Lawrence." News- 
papers from the North, and letters from friends, 
were long delayed, and often destroyed on the 
way. The haggard settlers looked at each other 
with forlorn helplessness. They had reached the 
extremest point of desolation. Still John and 
Katie said, " Massachusetts will help us. Depend 
upon it, Massachusetts will not desert her children 
in their utmost need." And other brave hearts 
responded to the cheering words, saying, "Ohio 
will help lis." " Connecticut will not forget us." 
" Illinois will come to the rescue." 

They had said this to each other, at the close of 
one of their darkest days, when lo ! a messenger, 
sent to Kansas city for letters and papers consigned 
to a friend there, was seen riding across the prairie. 
Through various perils, he had brought the pack- 
ages safely to Lawrence. They were seized and 
torn open with eager, trembling hands. A crowd 
of men and women assembled at the printing-office, 
to hear the news. Mr. Bradford was reading aloud 
to them, when his countenance suddenly fell. " Go 
on ! Go on !" cried the anxious listeners. He gasped 
out," " The Legislature of Texas has voted to give 
fifty thousand dollars to make Kansas a Slave State." 

" And Massachusetts ? What has Massachusetts 
done?" asked Kate, with nervous. eagerness. 


He lowered his eyes, as one ashamed of his 
mother, while he answered, " The Legislature of 
Massachusetts has voted not to give one dollar to 
make Kansas a Free State." 

In the midst of all the sufferings that had har- 
rowed her soul, Katie had always remained calm 
and collected. Now, for the first time, she groaned 
aloud; and, throwing her arms wildly toward 
heaven, she exclaimed, in tones of bitter anguish, 
" Oh, Massachusetts! How I have loved thee! 
How I have trusted in thee !" Then bowing her 
head in her hands, she sobbed out, " I could not 
have believed it." But Massachusetts was far off. 
The Governor and Legislature of her native state 
did not hear her appeal. They were busy with 
other things that came home to their business, not 
to their bosoms. 


On the 21st of May, 1856, Lawrence was "wiped 
out." Companies of Ruffians encamped around it ; 
a furious tipsy crew, in motley garments. One 
band carried a banner with a tiger ready to spring ; 
the motto, "You Yankees tremble! and aboli- 
tionists fall?" Another carried a flag marked, 
" South Carolina," with a crimson star in the centre 
the motto, " Southern Rights." Over Mount Oread 
floated a blood-red pirate flag, fit emblem of the 
Border Ruffians ; and by its side, a suitable com- 
panion for it now, floated the United States flag. 
"What cared ISTew England that her six stars were 


there, in shameful " Union" with that blood-red 

President Pierce issued a proclamation, which 
made it treason for the citizens to defend them- 
selves. The best and truest men were arrested and 
imprisoned as traitors, because they had no respect 
tor the laws passed upon them by a Missouri rabble 
with bowie-knives and revolvers. 

The printing-press was broken in pieces; the 
types scattered; the Free State Hotel demolished • 
general Kobinson's house, with its valuable librarv' 
burned to the ground ; and many of the cabins set 
on fare No time was allowed to remove any thing 
from he dwellings. Trunks and bureaus were 
ransacked; daguerreotypes and pictures of dear 
home friends were cut and smashed; and letters 
scattered and trampled in the mud. The women 
and children had been ordered out, at the com- 
mencement of these outrages. Mothers were weep- 
ing, as they fled across the prairies, and the poor- 
bewildered little ones were screaming and crying 
in every direction. s 

What cared New England that her six stars were 
looking down upon the scene, in shameful "Union" 
with that blood-red flag? 

Above the noise of tumbling stones, and crack- 
ling roofs, and screaming children, rose that horrid 
yell of the Border Euffians. « Damn the Yankees !" 
"Gave 'em hell!" 

A figure, tall as Ajax, loomed up above the 


savage crowd, calling out, " I'm clown on all sich 
fixens. Allers tole yer 'twas darned mean to come 
over into the Territory an vote for these fellers. 
I'm pro-slave myself. I'd like to see him that 
dar'd to call me an abolitionist ; but I tell yer 
what, boys, this ere's cuttin up a little too high." He 
was interrupted with shouts of, " Hold your jaw !" 
" Shut up ! you damned ole fool !" Still he re- 
monstrated : " This is a breakin down the rights o' 
America^ citizens. You might jist as well smash 
my ole woman's bureau. Them ar traps are per- 
sonal property. I'm down on all sich fixens." 

" Pitch into him !" cried the rabble ; and they 
did " pitch into him," amid yells and laughter. Tom 
Thorpe was silenced. He learned the uselessness 
of trying to moderate slavery, or ameliorate murder. 

Katie's first care had been to consign little 
Johnny to her brother ; and the next was to place 
the helpless Alice in her mother's arms, to be con- 
veyed to a hut half a mile off. Then she held a 
hurried conference with her husband about a suit- 
able place to conceal some fire-arms for future use;* 
and snatching up a box of letters and small valua- 
bles, she fled with Flora, pistol in hand. When 
Alice had been cared for, as well as the exigencies 
of the moment would permit, she ran back to aid 
some of her sickly neighbours, who were breaking 
down with the weight of their clinging children. 
Then, swift as an ostrich, the daring woman ran 
back to Lawrence, to pick up some of the scattered 


clothes and bedding, which her husband and his 
neighbours carried off as fast as she could heap it on 
their shoulders. The Kufhans were so busy with 
the printing-press and the Hotel, and she watched 
opportunities so cautiously, that she had rescued 
many things from the wreck, before they noticed 
her. They drove her off with oaths and ribald 
jests. She stood within sight of her blazing home, 
and her hand was on her pistol. The temptation 
was strong. But she remembered the oft-repeated 
words of General Eobinson : " Act only on the de- 
fensive. Make no aggressions. Keep the cause 
of Kansas sacred." She only turned upon her pur- 
suers to say, "You think you have silenced the 
Herald of Freedom, because you have demolished 
the printing-press; but you are mistaken. That 
trumpet will sound across the prairies yet." 

"What a hell of a woman !" exclaimed one of 
the mob ; and they laughed aloud in their drunken 
mirth, while the lurid flame of blazing homes 
lighted her across the prairies. 

What cared New England that her six stars were 

looking down upon the scene, in shameful " Union" 

with that blood-red flag ? 


The rapid removal of Alice, and the discomforts 
of her situation in the empty hut, brought on 
fever. In states of half wakefulness, she murmured 
continually, "I want my mother! I want to go 
home to my mother /" 


" Yes, dear, you shall go home," said Katie, ten- 
derly smoothing back her straggling hair. " Who 
are you ?" inquired the sufferer. " I am Katie. 
Dont you know Katie?" The words seemed to 
waken no remembrance. She closed her eyes, and 
tears oozed slowly from them, as she murmured 
piteously, " I want to go home to my mother." 

In this state of half consciousness she lingered 
two or three days. It was a mild, bright morning, 
and the terraced hills looked beautiful in the golden 
light, when she woke from a deep slumber, with a 
natural expression in her eyes, and asked, " Where 
am I ?" " You are in Kansas, dear," replied Katie. 
A shadow passed quickly over the thin pale face, 
and she pressed her emaciated hand against her 
heart. Again the eyelids closed, and the tears 
oozed through, as she answered feebly, "Yes — I 

All was still, still, in the wilderness. The human 
wolves were for the present glutted with their prey, 
and Lawrence lay silent in its ruins. Mr. Bradford 
was in prison, in danger of a traitor's death. The 
inmates of the hut looked at each other mournfully, 
but no one spoke. Presently, the invalid made a 
restless movement, and Katie stooped over her, to 
moisten her parched lips. She opened her eyes, 
which now seemed illuminated with a preternatural, 
prophetic light ; and, for the first time since her 
husband was murdered, she smiled. u Oh, Katie," 
she said, " I have been with William, having such 


a happy time walking over the hills ! From Mount 
Oread, he showed me the prairies all covered with 
farm-houses and fields of corn. Bells were ringing, 
and swarms of children pouring into the school 
houses. All round the horizon were church-spires, 
and beautiful houses, with windows glittering in 
the sunlight. When I told him it seemed just like 
dear New England, he smiled, and said, ' This is 
Free Kansas !' Then he pointed to a great Uni- 
versity on the highest of the hills, and said, ' Little 
Johnny is President, and the Blue Mound is called 
Free Mont.' " 

" I hail the omen !" exclaimed Kate. The thin 
lips of Alice quivered tremulously. It was her last 
smile on earth. 



There once wandered with me a beautiful child, 
With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild ; 
And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze, 
As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze. 

She knew not the thoughts that were floating away, 
Through the closing gates of that radiant day ; 
But a something she read in my dreaming eyes, 
Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies ; 

And a chill came over her, she knew not whence — 
'Twas the shadow of older experience. 
She looked up afraid at the heaven's blue dome, 
And murmured, " I'm tired. I want to go home." 

The child's timid glance, and her quivering tone, 
Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone ; 
And oft, when I gazed at the heaven's blue dome, 
She seemed to be saying, " I want to go home." 

She grew up a woman, that lovely young child, 
With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild ; 
But she lived not to see life's drear autumn day 
Fade slowly in silence and darkness away. 


In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom, 
Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb. 
Then often she looked at the heaven's blue dome, 
And sighed, " I am tired. I want to go home" 


My autumn of life is fast passing away, 
Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day ; 
And I often remember her childish sigh, 
As she turned from my face to the twilight sky. 

When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone, 
Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone ; 
And longing I look up to heaven's blue dome, 
Saying, " Father ! I'm tired. I want to go home." 



Prose Writers of Germany. 

By Frederick H. Hedge, D. D. 

Illustrated with an engraved Title-page from a 
design by Leutze ; and portraits of Goethe, Luther, 
Lessing, Mendelssohn, Herder, Schiller, Kichter, 
and Schlegel. Complete in one volume octavo. 

Cloth, $3.00; gilt, $3.50; antique morocco, $5.00. 




Sancta Clara, 
















A. W. Schlegel, 


F. Schlegel, 






This work comprises a list of the most eminent writers of Germany, 
together with copious extracts from their works, beginning with Luther 
and reaching up to the present time. For those who are interested in 
the literature of Germany, it presents a valuable aid in becoming more 
intimately acquainted with the German mind: and to the curious a£ 
excitement which will grow stronger as their taste is cultivated. 

"We find here valuable extracts, given from their prose writings. Al- 
though the writers follow in chronological order, and Ltjthek stands at 
the head of his intellectual brethren, the longest space is allowed to 
those who claim our greatest attention ; and Goethe therefore occupies 
the most conspicuous position both in the specimens given and the 
selection of the pieces. Next to Goethe, Schiller appears in an article 
upon Naive and Sentimental Poetry. Then we have Lessing, the first 
critic of his time. Next to him comes Herder, a devout philosopher, 
and a clear-sighted intellect. The two brothers Schlegel — William, the 
noble interpreter and translator of Shakspeare, and Frederic, known 
best by his investigations of the language and wisdom of the Indians — 
follow him, and Moses Mendelssohn, a Jewish philosopher, closes the 
series of these writers. 

"The author of this work— for it is well entitled to the name of an original 
production, though mainly consisting of translations — Rev. Dr. Hedge, of Provi- 
dence, is qualified, as few men are in this country, or wherever the English lan- 
guage is written, for the successful accomplishment of the great literary enter- 
prise to which he has devoted his leisure for several years. 1 ' 

•' We venture to say that there cannot he crowded into the same compass a 
more faithful representation of the German mind, or a richer exhibition of the 
profound thought, subtle speculation, massive learning and genial temper, that 
characterize the most eminent literary men of that nation." — Harbinger. 

" What excellent matter we here have. The choicest gems of exuberant fancy 
th* most polished productions of scholarship, the richest flow of the heart, the 
deepest lessons of wisdom, all translated so well by Mr. Hedge and his friends, 
thai they seem to have been first written by masters of the English tongue." 

u We have read the book with rare pleasure, and have derived not less infor- 
mation than enjoyment." — Knickerbocker, 


The Works of Felicia Hemans. 

A complete and uniform edition, with a Memoir by her Sister, and 
an Essay by Mrs. Sigourney. In 7 vols, cabinet size, with Portrait. 
Pri in neat cloth, or on superfine paper, with illuminated 

titles ; $7.00, in half morocco, or calf. Also, the same edition, with- 
out the Memoir, in 3 vols., §3.00, cloth gilt, or $7.00 in morocco. 
Each volume may bo had as a separate and complete book. 

Price £2\ cents ; or in extra cloth, gilt edges, $1.00, 

Memoir of Mrs. Hemans. 

By her Sister. With an Essay on her Genius, by Mrs. Sigourney. 

Tales and Historic Scenes, 

And other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

The Siege of Valencia, 

The Skeptic, and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

The Forest Sanctuary, 

Lays of many Lands, and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

Records of Woman, 

Vespers of Palermo, and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

Songs of the Affections, 

National Lyrics, and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

Songs and Lyrics, 

Scenes and Hymns of Life, and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans. 

Each of the above, plain cloth, 62| cts. ; extra cloth, gilt edges, with 
illuminated~titles, $1.00. 


The Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

A new edition, carefully revised and corrected from the last London 
edition. 2 vols. 16mo. 

Cloth, $2.00 ; extra gilt, $2.50 ; turkey morocco, $4.50. 

Prometheus Bound, 

Casa Guidi Windows, Sonnets from the Portuguese, &c. 1 vol. 
16mo. Cloth, 75 cts. ; cloth, extra gilt, Si. '25. 

" I bow my head in reverence before the genius of the greatest English Poetess. 
Her last poem, ' Casa Guidi "Windows, 1 has passages that Miriam might have sung 
to her timbrel over the sunken chariots of Egypt. The Portuguese Sonnets are 
among the most wonderful poems in any language. Their exquisite spiritual del- 
icacy, their naturalness, their sincerity, and directness, place them in the highest 
rank." — Lectures on English Poets, by Oliver WendaU Holmes. 




By Henry T. Tuckerman, Author of "Artist Life," etc. 
Being Essays on the Lives, Characters, and Writings of the following 




























This volume does ere lit to the critical taste and imaginative faculties of the 
author, who passes in review the works of between twenty and thirty of our more 
modern poets, quotes them, points out theii beauties, and estimates their qualities in 
an enthusiastic spirit, congenial to his subjects, and yet not so unchecked as to lead 
him into indiscriminating admiration. He displays taste and judgment, in fact, as 
well as fancy ard feeling; and though verging toward praise, is not blind to the 
claims of criticism ; and is it not better, as well as more just, to be somewhat gentle 
in your visitings, and rather lavish than otherwise of encomium and encourage- 
ment, than to suppose that the critic's true office consists in detecting microscopic 
blemishes, magnifying them, and parading your superior talent in ill-natured carp- 
ing and dogmatic abuse ? Be assured that censure is not only the easiest, but the 
worst species of inquisition : any fool can find faults, but it requires a competent 
person to point out merits, and institute faithful comparisons. In performing his 
pleasing task, Mr. Tuckerman has shown that he possessed this power ; r.ud he has 
made a volume of a very agreeable nature, studded with poetical quotations, in sup- 
port of his opinions. — London Literary Gazette. 

Almost any man's true, unaffected, living thoughts on the poets, whose verse 
makes part of our mental substance, could hardly fail to be acceptable. We all 
love to talk about our friends, and to hear others talk about them, in the right 
spirit. But Mr. Tuckerman's talk is as if we heard from a fine genial soul, who had 
Been our friend since we had seen him ; and knew him and loved him quite as wed 
as ourselves ; minute and discriminating accounts of his excellence — made extra- 
piquant b}' personal anecdotes, and reminiscences of amusing and pathetic passages 
in his history. — Mirror. 

Mr. Tuckerman is one of our especial favorites. There is a grace, delicacy, and 
earnestness about his writings, which we admire and love ; while his candor, his 
warm appreciation of the merits of others, and his critical nicety of discrimination 
in literary matters, constitute him, in our opinion, one of the best guides to those 
who, not being able to give much time to study, are yet desirous of cultivating a 
taste for elegant letters. — Nevj York Gazette. 

This volume does great credit to Mr. Tuckerman as a writer and critic. No work 
Aas appeared from an American source; within our memory, so thoroughly imbued 
with the belles-lettres spirit, as this. It is the result of much patient thinking on 
the most attractive of all subjects, and is admirably calculated as a guide to a large 
class of (he reading public, who have the means and the time to gratify liteiary 
tastes, but are ignorant of the relative rank and importance of the different English 
poets, and of the best method of reading them to advantage. . . . This volume ia 
well calculated to convey knowledge as well as opinions. We cordially recommend 
It to the lovers of poetry. — Boston Courier. 



tfafoflbl* 36nnk fnr Irljnnls anir /irmtltfs. 

Poetry for Schools, 

Designed for Reading and Recitation. The whole selected from the 
best Poets in the English language. By the author of " American 
Popular Lessons," " Classic Talcs," &c, &c. A new and revised 
edition, with additions. 

In addition to the very choice and unexceptionable selection of poetry, 
this volume contains, annexed to the quotations from each author, 




Thus the history and character of the poet is associated in the mind 
with his productions. 

This edition has been carefully revised by the author. It com- 
mences with a brief but authentic history of English Poetry, and is 
enriched by many specimens from the best American Poets. Bryant, 
Longfellow, Holmes, Everett, and other eminent names, embellish its 

"This is a compilation which will he found most useful in elevating the ideas 
of young people, and inspiring them with literary taste. The author has gone 
over the whole range of literature, from translations of the old Greek tragedies, 
down through the early English poets to those of our own day and the American 
writers. The finest passages are selected, and explanations added which enable 
the scholar to understand them. A short sketch of each writer is also given. 
We have no hesitation in pronouncing this the best work of the kind we have 
seen, and should hope it would be extensively introduced into our schools." — 
Albany Register. 

" One of the very best books of its kind. The selections are made with excel- 
lent judgment, and are accompanied with an excellent commentary, furnishing 
the pupil with information necessary for the full understanding of the specimens 
given, and pointing out what in them is most worthy of admiration. The taste 
of youthful readers could not be under the direction of a safer critic than the 
Compiler of 'Poetry for Schools.'" — Evening Post. 

"This is one of those really useful and justly appreciated books which should 
be familiar to all engaged in teaching:. It is prepared by Eliza Robbins. whose 
practical experience in the education of the young, as Well as her thorough ac- 
quaintance with English literature, peculiarly fit her for the task of compiling 
such a book. It is neatly brought out. and will doubtless be introduced into 
schools and families which have not yet availed themselves of its issistance in 
the most delightful branch of education." — Home Journal. 

"This is a new edition of a very popular school-book, in which many o( the 
flnesr passages of English and .American Poetry arte presented as illustrations of 
the nature and office of true poetry, and as exercises lor reading aid recitation. 
It is compiled with the highest degree of taste and care." 





Poems by William Wordsivorth ; 

With an Introductory Essay on his Life and Writings, by H. T. 

Tuckerman. Containing his most characteristic and beautiful pieces. 

With a portrait. Cloth, 75 cents. Gilt, $1. 

"Wordsworth's poetry stands distinct in the world. That which to other men 
is an occasional pleasure, or possibly delight, and to other poets au occasional 
transport, the seeing this visible Universe, is to him, a Life — one Individual 
Human Life — namely, his Own, travelling the whole journey from the cradle to 
the grave. And that Life — for what else could he do with it ? — he has verified — 
Bung. And there ia no other such song." — Christopher North, in Blackwood. 

The Excursion : 

A Poem, by William Wordsworth. Complete in one vol. 75 cents. 

Gilt, $1. 

"The noblest poem in the English language, since Milton's Paradise Lost." — 
R. H. Dana. 

"The influence of the genius of Wordsworth, in correcting the poetic taste of 
the age by weaning it from the pompous inanities that marked the close of the 
last century, and enlisting the sympathies, feelings, and taste in favor of nature, 
and that kindly philanthropy which does honor to human nature, has been im- 
mense. While the influence of nature upon man was his theme, he was fre- 
quently as just as profound. 

wi The k Excursion,' by far the noblest production of the author, was first printed 
in 1814, and contains passages of sentiment, description, and pure eloquence, not 
excelled by any living poet. The principal character is a poor Scottish pedlar, 
who traverses the mountains in company with the poet, and is made to discourse 
with profound philosophy of the beauty and grandeur of nature. The edition 
of Messrs. Francis & Co., is a very beautiful one." — Democratic Review. 


The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

Complete in one volume. With an Introductory Essay on his Lifo 
and Writings, by H. T. Tuckerman. Beautifully printed, $1. 

" A mine of thought, feeling, and poesy, in a small space. The world has 
learned to appreciate the wonderful genius of Coleridge ; and it is no mora 
necessary now to defend and to praise his effusions, than those of Milton or 


Waverley Poetry : 

Being the Poems scattered through the Waverley Novels, attributed 
to anonymous sources, but presumed to be written by Sir Walteb 
Soott. With Titles and Index. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 





The Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

A new edition, corrected by the last London edition, revised and 
partly re-written by the author. In two volumes. $2. 

« Mrs. Browning is, in our judgment, the first poet of her sex— the Milton 
fcmong women." — Christian Inquirer. 

"The richest and most powerful poetry which has come to us in these recent 
years from the female mind."— Independent. 

" If this lady is not a great poet, who is V—Fraser^s Magazine. 

" Mrs. Browning is entitled to dispute with Tennyson the honor of being the 
greatest living poet of England. Certainly, no woman of that country has yet 
equalled her in poetry. Her best poems, both in spirit and execution, are in 
the highest rank of art." — Illustrated News. 

"That Miss Barrett has done more, in poetry, than any woman, living or dead, 
will scarcely be questioned ; that she has surpassed all her poetical cotempo- 
raries of either sex (with a single exception) is our deliberate opinion— not idly 
entertained, we think, nor founded on any visionary basis. Her poetic inspira 
tion is the highest— we Ban conceive nothing more august."— E. A. Poe. 

'•Mrs. Browning's poems are marked by strength of passion, by intensity of 
emotion, and by high religions aims, sustained and carried out by "an extraordi- 
nary vigor of imagination and felicity of expression. * * * The hopefulness 
of the poetry— the religious hopefulness which rises with prophetic power over 
tombs and deserts— is what commends it to us most, brought out as it is in all 
the parts with an imagination so strong, and in tones so beautiful. It is pleasant 
to find a writer of such unquestioned ability as Mrs. Browning, and with a love 
of nature so pure and hearty, turning away from the pantheistic tendencies of 
the age, and from the exclusive love and worship of nature, to recognize in sim- 
plicity of soul the graces and sanctities of a Christian faith, and to dwell amid 
the beloved and hallowed scenes which a Christian heart and imagination can 
create around us." — Christian Register. 

Prometheus Bound, and other Poems ; 

including Sonnets from the Portuguese, Casa Guidi Windows, etc. 
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 75 cents. 

u Elizabeth Barrett Browning is undoubtedly the most spiritual and vigorous 
female writer of poetry of the age. She is at once a thorough scholar and a 
true woman, and writes from genuine sentiment and high aspiration. Those 
who have not learned to appreciate her lofty and touching verses, have a great 
pleasure in store. To such as know her, we need not commend any thing from 
her pen. We cannot, however, forbear saying that a peculiar interest invests 
the present volume. After Miss Barrett married Robert Browning — a man of 
peculiar and exquisite genius — they went to Italy. From her windows in Flor- 
ence she had glimpses of the late struggle for liberty, and these induced her to 
think and feel on the subject ; the result is before us. In addition, we have all 
her poems not included in the other two volumes, and a series of sonnets — the 
best in the English language, since Wordsworth's last, and full of intellect, 
sensibility, and grace." — Home Journal. 

" This is the poetical offering of the year. The author, next to Tennyson, claims 
a hearing on the ground of that inherent right possessed by all men and women 
of genius. Miss Barrett has learning, (her iEschylus is a very different gentle- 
man from the old prosing of other translators,) thought, profound feeling, artistic 
skill. The subject of the last poem, Casa- Guidi Windows, is Italy and the recenl 
struggles for liberty, and in it Mrs. Browning, in her peculiar manner of fervid 
inspiration and artistic carelessness, pours out her soul on the theme which of 
all within the scope of human thought is the most exciting to a trup poet." 






Tlie Poets and Poetry of Europe ; 

With Biographical Notices and Translations. From the earliest 

period to the present time. By Henry W. Longfellow. Comprising 

translations from the Anglo-Saxon, Icelandic, Swedish, Dutch, 

German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, &c, &c. In one 

large 8vo. volume of 750 pages. 

'' The most complete work of the kind in English literature." — Boston Courier. 

"A more desirable work for the scholar or man of taste, has scarcely ever been 
esued in the United States." — Tribxme. 


The Dream, and Other Poems ; 

Including the Child of the Islands. By the Hon. Caroline Elizabeth 

Sarah Norton. "With a fine Portrait. Cloth, $1.00; extra, $1.50; 

morocco, $2.50* 

"The Dream is a very beautiful poem, the frame-work of -which is simply a 
lovely mother watching over a lovely daughter asleep : which daughter dreams, and 
when awaked tells her dream : which dream depicts the bliss of a first love and 
an early union, and is followed by the mother's admonitory comment, importing 
the many accidents to which wedded happiness is liable, and exhortinsr to moder- 
ation of hope, and preparation for severe duties. It is in this latter portion of the 
poem that the passion and the interest assume a personal hue ; and passages occur 
which sound like javelins hurled by an Amazon." — Quarterly Review. 

"There can be no question that the performance (The Child of the Islands) 
bears throughout the stamp of extraordinary ability — the sense of easy power 
\<n y rarely deserts us. But we pause on the bursts of genius ; and they are many. 

* * * The exquisite beauty of the verses is worthy of the noble womanly 
feelings expressed in them. * * * We wish we had room for a score more 
of these masterly sketches — but we hope we have given enough to show that we 
have not observed with indifference this manifestation of developed skill— this 
fairest wreath as yet won in the service of the graver Muses for the name of 
Sheridan." — Quarterly Review. 

"This is poetry, true poetry, and of the sort we unfeignedly approve — the gen- 
uine product of a cultivated mind, a rich fancy, and a warm, well regulated heart." 

Tlve Undying One, 

The Sorrows of Rosalie, and Miscellaneous Poems. By Hon. Mrs. 

Norton. A new volume, containing Poems never before published 

in a collected form. Cloth, $1.00 ; extra, $1.50. 

"This lady is the Byron of our modern poetesses. She has very much of that 
intense personal passion by which Byron's poetry is distinguished from the fcirge? 
grasp and deeper communion of Wordsworth. She has also Byron's beautifu. 
Intervals of tenderness, his strong practical thought, and his forcible expression. 
It is not an artificial imitation, but a natural parallel." — Quarterly Review. 


orfts of Willium (ESare, 


A. Historical Romance, in Letters of L. Maulius Piso from Palmyra, 
to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome. 2 vols. l2mo. Seventh 

u ' The Letters from Palmyra' is one of the most brilliant additions to American 
literature. To have fallen on a subject of such admirable capabilities, and unap 
propriated by previous seekers after attractive themes for works of fiction, was a 
piece of rare good fortune, in an age of such literary abundance as the present; to 
have treated it in a manner fully equal to its demands on the imagination, required 
high powers, persevering labor, and the keenest perception. All this has been done 
in this beautiful work." — North American Review 

li Minds that go ' far back in the ages ' to refresh the imagination and seek instruc- 
tion, nothing repelled by the associations of antiquity, will be drawn towards this de- 
lightful book by its name merely, and once conversant with its pages, will never 
cease to feast upon them, until they have possessed themselves of the whole." — New- 
York Evening Post. 

"It has already become a classic, and needs no commendation." — Tribune 



In Letters of L. Manlius Piso, from Rome, to Fausta the Daughter 
of Gracchus, at Palmyra. 2 vols. 

" This is a new edition of " Probus," the well-known sequel to " Zenobia." The 
author states that the book has been republished abroad in several places, under the 
name of "Anrelian," and that, so far from complaining of the liberty taken, he 
could not but regard it as a piece of good fortune, as he himself had long thought 
" Aurelian" to be a more appropriate title than the one originally chosen. Francis 
& Co. have now issued it in two neat but cheap volumes. It is hardly necessary to 
speak of the merits of a work which not only has crowds of enthusiastic admirers, 
but which has been deliberately placed, by consent of both learned and unlearned, on 
the same shelf with the most original prose productions of America — the writings of 
Brown and Irving. If any who read this paragraph have not yet read Zenobia and 
its sequel, we say to them do so at once. Put by or throw away the productions of 
to day for a short time, and read the most artistic, consistent and elevating pictures 
of " old Rome " and her enemies, which has ever been attempted.'' — Boston Post. 

"This work presents the struggle of Paganism with Christianity, in the midst 
of one of the great eras of persecution, and, in our esteem, is, with "Zenobia," not 
only one of the most remarkable, but also one of the most valuable productions in 
the field of historic fiction, whether of this or any other age." — Christian Register. 

"These volumes show how thoroughly the writer's mind was imbued with the 
beauty and spirit of those classical authors, whose treasures of learning and gems 
of thought he seems to have made all his own." — Jour, of Commerce. 


" The style of these works cannot be too highly commended. It is easy, graceful, 
and pure— varying with the subject, and happily expressive of all its changes. In 
narrative, it is simple and unadorned. In description of external scenery it becomes 
ornate, and sometimes highly colored. It is a great excellence in fictitious composi- 
tion, to make the reader see the things described. This is precisely the leading 
ex;ellence of the descriptive parts of our author's works. They seem to be reali- 
ties reduced to writing. The books leave an impression of completeness, just pro- 
portion, and admirabLe distribution of parts, which are found in perfection only in 
the works of great masters.'' — North American Review. 

" These Avorks evince an extent and minuteness of classical learning which but 
few possess, and fewer still have the power so beautifully and skilfully to embody. 
The student of history, and especially the student of classic language and history, 
vill derive as much solid instruction as the reader of taste finds delight in the 
graceful sketches, the pure style, and the exalted sentiments which characterise 
them." — New- York Evangelist. 



Philothea ; 

A Grecian Koirmnce. Third edition. 75 cts. 

"Every page of it breathes the inspiration of genius, and shows a highly culti 
vated taste in literature and art." — J¥. A. Review. 

Letters from New York. 

Seventh edition. 2 vols. $1.50. 

" I cordially thank the public for the hearty welcome they have given thia 
unpretending volume. I rejoice in it as a new proof that whatsoever is simple, 
sincere, and earnest, will find its way to the hearts of men." — Preface. 

The Mother's Book. 

Eighth edition. 62 cts. 

"For sound moral instruction and practical good sense, we know of no work of 
its class worthy to be compared to it." — N. Y. Tribune. 

Biographies of Good Wives. 

Third edition. 63 cts. 

"We commend this pleasing collection to all those women who are ambitious, 
like its subjects, to become good wives." — S. Patriot. 

History of the Condition of Women 

Jn various Ages and Nations. 2 vols. Fifth edition. $1.25. 

" Information as to the past and present condition of one-half the human rac», 
put together in that lively and attractive form which is sure to grow up beneath 
the hand of Mrs. Child." 

Flowers for Children. 

A Series of volumes in Prose and Verse, for Children of various 
ages. 37 cts. each. In one volume, 88 cts. 

" A collection of gems in which sparkle all the beauties of truth, holiness, and 
love, to attract the mind of youth in its first unfoldings." 

Fact and Fiction. 

A collection of Stories. 75 cts. 

" There is a fresh and loveable heartiness in this book — there is music in it — it 
is full of humanity, and benevolence, and noble affection. It is the free, unre- 
strained outpourings of the enlightened heart of a poet, an artist, and a woman. 1 ' 
— Tribune. 

Memoirs of Madame De Stael, 

And of Madame Eoland. A new edition, revised and enlarged. 
63 cts. 

The Progress of Religious Ideas, 

Through Successive Ages. 3 vols. 12mo. $4. 

"My motive for writing has been a very simple one; I wished to show that 
theology is not religion, with the hope that I might help to break down parti- 
tion walls; to ameliorate what the eloquent Bushnell Calls '■baptized hatreds of 
the human race.' * * * Those who wish to obtain candid information, with- 
out carin'_' whether it does or does not sustain any favourite theory of their own 
may perhaps thank me for saving them the trouble of searching through large 
and learned volumes; and if they complain of want of profoundness, they may 
be willing to accept simplicity and clearness in exchange for depth." 



Progress of Religious Ideas 

Through Su Auks. By L. Mabia Child, 8 vols, royal 

1 2 1 1 : 

God Bends hifl touchers unto every age, 

To every clime, and every race of nun, 

With revelations fitted to their growth 

And Shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth 

Into the selfish rule of one so 

Therefore, each form of worship that hath swayed 

The life of man. and given it to grasp 

The master-key of know 

Unfolds some germs of goodness and of right. 

J. B. Lowell. 

These handsome volumes contain a historical review of the religious 
ideas which have been current in different nations, and in successive 
ages of the world. The religions of Hindostan, H_ r yi>t, China, Tartary, 
Chaldea, Persia, Greece, and Home, the ews, are surveyed 

in the first volume. The second treats of the Jewish religion after their 
exile, takes a retrospect of precedinj and gives the writer's view 

of Christianity in the first and second centuries. The Christian religion 
and Mohammedanism are the principal themes of the third volume. 
The style of the -work is familiar, simple, and beautiful. 


Vol. I. Hindostan — Antiquity of Hindostan; Anchorites; Panthe- 
ism ; Gods and Goddesses; Sacred Emblems; Bramins; Transmi- 
gration ; Heavens and Hells ; Sacred Books ; Crishna ; Bouddha ; Sects ; 
Temples ; Holy Cities ; Festivals ; Hindo Women ; Sacred Animals ; 
Degeneracy of Hindoos; Fakeers ; Magic; Nadac Shah; Narayun 
Powar; Kammohun Boy. Egypt — Ethiopians; Resemblances between 
Hindoos and Egyptians : Ancient Travellers to Egypt ; Antiquity of 
Egypt; Hieroglyphics deciphered ; Gods and Goddesses; Heavens and 
II Us: Castes; Priesthood; Egyptian Women; Oracles; Transmigra- 
tion; Festivals; Sacred Books; Pantheism; Sacred Animals; Sects; 
Temples; Pyramids; Alexandria. China — Antiquity of China ; Con- 
fucius : Lao-tseu ; Sacred Books ; Religion of Fo, the Chinese name for 
Bouddha; Lamaism; Transmigration. Thibet and Tartary — Famous 
Buddhist Hermit ; Lamaism ; Grand Lama ; Sacred Books ; Lama- 
series, or Monasteries ; Anchorites ; Caste abolished ; Prayer-wheels ; 
Temples; Buddhist Worship; Pantheism; Transmigration; Heavens 
And Hells; Sects; Date of Buddhist Religion; Its rapid extension. 
Chaldea — Antiquity of Chaldea; Resemblances between Chaldea. Hin- 
dostan, and Egypt; Priesthood ; Magic; Gods and Goddesses ; Temple. 
Persia — Zoroaster; The Sacred Book called Zend-Avesta: Gods and 
Spirits; The Magi; Sects; Fire-worshippers; Devil-worshippers. 
Greece and Rome — Hesiod; Homer; Gods and Goddesses ; Heaven and 
Hell; Priesthood; Women; Modes of Worship: Festivals; Oracles 
and Prophecy ; Temples; Sects of Philosophy ; Orpheus; Pythagoras; 
Socrates : Plato ; Resemblances between Hindoo, Egyptian, and Grecian 
Ideas; Aristotle; Cicero; Stoics; Decline of Faith. Celtic Tribes — 
Druids ; Women. Jews — Abraham ; Patriarchs ; Moses ; Manetho ; 
Resemblances between Egyptian and. Hebrew Ideas; The Laws and 
Writings of Moses; Joshua; Gideon; Frequent Appearance of Angels; 


Priesthood; Idolatry; Times of the Judges; Samuel; David; Th? 
Temple ; Solomon ; Kingdoms of Israel and Judah ; Book of the Law ; 
The Kings after Solomon ; Exile to Babylon. 

Vol. II. Jews after tlie Exile — Chaldean Schools; Daniel in Persia; 
Cyrus the Great ; Samaritans; Rebuilding the Temple; Ezra's Laws; 
Priests and Levites ; The Sabbath; Festivals; Fasts; Prophets; An- 
gels; Events in Jewish History ; Sects ; Oral Law ; John the Baptist; 
Jesus; Messiah; Sacred Books; Talmud; Solomon's Wisdom; Im- 
portance of Jewish Records as viewed by themselves and by others ; 
Destruction of Jerusalem ; Modern Jews. Retrospective View — Com- 
parison between Hindoos and Hebrews; One God; The Second God; 
Communication between Hebrews and Persians; Ideas of God; Names 
of God ; The Trinity ; The Word ; Intermediate Spirits, in descending 
series ; Transmigration ; Incarnations ; The Golden Age, past and 
future ; Messiahs ; Immortality ; Atonement ; Evil Spirits ; Miracles, 
Oracles, and Prophecies; Inspiration; Animal Magnetism; Public 
Doctrines and Secret Doctrines ; Light and Truth ; Immodest Symbols ; 
No Religion Monotheistic; Theocracies; Martyrdom. Christianity — 
Days of the Apostles; Enmity of the Jews; Eoman Persecution under 
Nero ; Traditions concerning the Apostles ; Miracles by Vespasian, 
Philo, Apollonius, Simon Magus, Cerinthus ; Persecution under Tragan 
and succeeding emperors ; Martrydom; Early Christian Fathers ; Opin- 
ions and Customs of the Early Fathers ; Church Government and Dis- 
cipline; Celibacy; Sunday; Festivals; Celsus; Judaism; Benevo- 
lence of Christians ; The Earliest Sects ; Gnostics ; New Platonists. 

Vol. III. Christianity — Constantine ; Virgil's Fourth Eclogue ; Chris- 
tian Sects; Constantius; Julian; Jovian; Valentinian ; Theodosius 
the Great ; The Later Christian Fathers ; their opinions and customs ; 
extracts from their writings ; Festivals and Fasts ; Bishops ; Councils ; 
Hermits and Monks ; Monasteries ; Nuns ; Gentiles or Pagans ; Jews ; 
Samaritans ; Heretics ; Gregory the Great ; Slavery ; Churches, Images, 
Saints, and Bosaries ; Christian Sacred Books ; Spurious Books ; Na- 
tions converted to Christianity; Separate Churches. Mohammeda 
— Mohammedan Sacred Books. Concluding diopter. List of Books 




"No true scholar, who has himself faithfully worked over the remains of 
antiquity, can fail to follow its pages with perpetually fresh wonder and delight; 
■wonder at the completeness and compactness of the synthesis, and delight at the 
fresh and musical language, always as clear as a bell and as bright as the sky, 
through which her rays of lore come streaming in from all sides ; wonder that so 
little ever said has been left out, and pleasure at the natural and reasonable way 
in which everything comes in, without effort or disturbance. 

"Its place in all libraries is secured. It is a skillful exposition of the Constants 
of the science, those facts which- have been sifted and proved and quoted and 
catalogued and male the basis of all modern argumentation upon the past. It 
possesses a value that will not change, like that of other books written up for a 
sect or a side, and therefore incomplete, advancing the doubtful, because it is 
needful for a theory, and suppressing the well known, because it is dangerous to 
the theory. Mrs. Child's catholic sympathies with every genus and speeds of 
human soul is certainly evident throughout her book. The true and tender way 
she writes of every development of the genius of divine and human love shows 
how impossible it would be for her to limit it in a fixed and Bpecial theory, for 
that would necessitate fixed prejudices, for and on the other side, and therefore 
gives the best possible guarantee, to the readers of her book, that she was also in- 
capable of garbling, overstating, suppressing the facts upon which many appa- 


rently opposite theories have been and must still he built up, the terms of none of 
which she might accept, but the spirit and light of all of which have already 
evidently mingled in her soul and governed with mild consistency the writing 
ot her book. With this guarantee, its value will be felt by all true scholars, as a 
thesaurus of traditions and facts, manj of them of difficult attainment, buried in 
volumes of high price, scarce and almost unreadable even in our best translations 
of them, but especially as an arranged exhibition of these, arranged, not arbitra- 
rily, but on a natural system of easy reference. 

"And we venture to predict that it will share the fine fate of those indispensable 
manuals, text books, encyclopedias, dictionaries, and synopses, which now make 
up the working libraries of students in every department of knowledge ; of such 
a book, for instance, as the Cosmos of Humboldt, a book which in fact it more 
nearly resembles than any other written In modern times." — Christian Register. 

"It shows great learning and great patience in the study and comparison of tho 
ancient historians. Theologians and students may have known the facts brought 
forward in this work before, but Mrs. Child lias arranged and ordered them in a 
way to make them plain and Interesting to readers who have not had time or op- 
portunity to go through so elaborate a course of study. The style is clear and 
good, and she has made a very interesting and instructive book. " Young and old 
readers will find it well worth while to omit the reading of some of the alarm- 
ingly numerous novels, winch all feel bound to keep the run of, in favour of a book 
which contains so much that they will find it good to read and reinemucr. 1 '-- 
Boston Daily Advertiser. 

"We take up these volumes with feelings of gratitude and respect for the 
cherished authoress, which assure us of profit of some kind to be found i:i their 
perusal. The productions of her pen amused and instructed our boyhood, and 
we have ever since found food for heart and mind in her numerous, but none too 
numerous, works. Devoted, as her writings have always been, to the high ser- 
vice of truth and love, they have given her a deep place in the affections of her 
readers. In her present work, she lias set before herself a task chosen with tho 
utmost nobleness of motive, and pursued, of course, with candour and fidelity of 
effort. ***** Mrs. Child leads us through a survey of the world's religions, 
of those of them, we should say, which have sacred books, and endeavours to pre- 
sent to us their forms, their fundamental tenets, their development, and their 
spirit. India, Egypt, China, Thibet and Tartary, Chaldea, Persia, Greece. Rome, 
and the Celtic tribes, are thus challenged to give us a sketch of their faith, as an 
introduction to the religions whose records are contained in the I'.ible, and then 
the religion of Mahomet, brings up the close of the survey. We marvel alike at 
the industry of the writer and at the graces of simplicity and purity of style in 
which she has presented its results. Very valuable extracts from various 
* sacred books, 1 as well as from our ecclesiastical stores, judiciously selected and 
admirably arranged, enable the reader to look behind his guide, and to judge of 
the fidelity of her course, while he is left to form his own conclusions, as hers 
are not obtruded upon him." — Christian Examiner. 

"Every chapter has served to increase our sense of the vast amount of inter- 
esting information which the work contains, and to quicken anew our apprecia- 
tion of the industry and research, the fearless truthfulness, the strict conscien- 
tiousness which must have presided over its preparation. 'The Progress of 
Religious Ideas 1 supplies a want which every one interested in the subject of 
which it treats must have felt. The facts are to be found indeed, but only after 
tedious research through many bulky volumes. In the English language, at 
least, there is no work which gives anything like so condensed, and yet so full a 
view of the ancient religions as this does." — Christian Inquirer. 

" These are remarkable volumes. The history of various sects and of the 
Christian Church has been given, but we are not aware that any work has been 
before published in this country, having so large a scope as this. There are few 
writers, certainly few churchmen, who would have been capable of undertaking 
the task which Mrs. Child has well accomplished. To approach it required not 
merely high qualifications as a writer, a sound intellect, and unwearied research, 
but what most of those who might otherwise be competent to the task would 
lack, a freedom from scepticism on the one hand, and perfect religious toleration 

on the other But it is the facts which these volumes contain that will 

make them sought after." — Boston Journal.